


Raising the Barre

by cx_shhhh



Series: Barre-Crossed Lovers (a.k.a. The Big Gay Shakespeare Ballet) [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Romeo and Juliet Fusion, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Montparnasse is a dick, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, mutual simping, otherwise it wouldn't work, pretty grantaire, the idea literally came to me in a dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cx_shhhh/pseuds/cx_shhhh
Summary: The ballet,Romeo and Juliet, but make itgay. Enjolras thinks it's a good idea, and Grantaire just happens to have the necessary skills. It's ridiculous how oblivious they are. In fact, they're the only ones who don't know that they love each other. The whole company knows, the random stranger at the park knows, the café employee knows, and pretty much everyone in the world knows.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Barre-Crossed Lovers (a.k.a. The Big Gay Shakespeare Ballet) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101842
Comments: 120
Kudos: 95





	1. Morning Serenade

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to [Jolee](https://the-gayest-eponine.tumblr.com/) for being such a huge help with the plot and being a second pair of eyes. Also they write cute [fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkestnightwillend/gifts).
> 
> *inhales deeply* [Haley](https://halyeya.tumblr.com/), you are literally my best friend, and I don't know what I'd do without you. Like. I could sing you praises forever. In every way possible, this fic is for you. Thanks for reading my drafts and screaming about Enjolras and Grantaire with me while also proposing adorable ideas.
> 
> Disclaimer: I did as much research as I could for this AU, but if there are any inaccuracies, please don't be afraid to kindly point them out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire knows he's fucked. Enjolras is trying as hard as he can.

Fantine taps a finger against her mouth while considering the proposal. It is not unusual for Enjolras to suddenly bring up ideas to make the Paris Opera Ballet’s productions more and more progressive. The man is a visionary and is as passionate onstage as he is offstage. The way he practically throws himself into his art and dances allows his audience to easily see how he worked his way up from the corps de ballet all the way to principal in the span of four years.

Of course, this means that with more influence on the company’s executives, Enjolras is currently attempting to persuade them to make their upcoming production of _Romeo and Juliet_ as gay as the classical ballet world would approve. While this ballet already deviates from _Swan Lake_ or _Sleeping Beauty_ , the company will just have to make an even bolder statement.

Fantine already knows that Enjolras would be cast as Romeo no matter what after they leave _The Nutcracker_ season, so it’s really a question of which of her other male principals would work the best as his partner. There is also the question revolving around how much of MacMillan’s choreography she can keep and how much she needs to change. Obviously, lifting another man would be difficult, no matter how strong and capable Enjolras is, and Juliet’s choreography is based around a totally different set of skills.

Fantine ponders for a little longer, mentally sifting through the strengths and weaknesses of all her dancers until some sort of lightbulb goes off in her head. She, in fact, does know of one particular individual who is more than qualified for this role and quickly writes his name down for approval:

* * *

“Grantaire.”

He leans back into his split until his head touches his back leg and makes eye contact with the person who had mentioned his name. Grantaire looks at Enjolras upside-down for a moment before letting out a deep exhale and slowly returning a position fit for talking to polite company.

“Yes?”

“I was just wondering if you’ve seen the casting announcement,” Enjolras continues in that sonorous voice of his. “I had hoped I would be partnered with Combeferre at least, but I’m going to defer to Fantine’s judgement on this.”

Grantaire, now standing up, still has to tilt his chin up a little to make direct eye contact. _Damn Enjolras and his stupid, gorgeous, princely looks._ If Enjolras ever finds out that Grantaire called him “princely,” he would fly into a righteous rage, but he can’t help it if the man is the definition of a fairy tale prince: tall, blond, and handsome. Grantaire, finally finding his words again, should feel a little offended by the backhanded statement, but for the sake of his own sanity, he is also a little disappointed. In himself. Because who knows how long he will last in Enjolras’s very nice arms?

“Do you have any problem with having to settle for me?” Grantaire asks mockingly, punctuating it with a sharp laugh.

“ _Settle?_ That is nowhere near what I meant. Don’t twist my words,” Enjolras replies, eyes narrowed.

Grantaire has to snort, “Well that’s what it sounded like, Monsieur, so…”

And that’s the other problem. He has this thing called, “I am unable to shut up for the life of me,” and secretly wishes he could really just press a mute button whenever Enjolras is nearby. It’s almost too easy to rankle him and having to spend forty hours a week with him for the next couple months will be absolutely insufferable on both ends.

Enjolras raises an eyebrow and says, “Anyway, I digress. Fantine wants you en pointe for this. If you haven’t been made aware yet.”

“Don’t you worry your perfect face. I know what I’m getting myself into, sore toes and ankles and all,” Grantaire sighs, pulling out a roller from his bag. He supposes that’s what makes him unique and fit for the role of Juliet. There once was a time when he was interested in pointework, admiring the drag queen ballerinas from The Trocks, so he experimented a little on his own, strengthening his ankles and feet enough to go up en pointe. Finally, he worked up the courage to actually go out to get professionally fitted and buy them while only crying a little at the price tag.

Originally, all of this was only to practice alone in his apartment and mostly for fun, learning the solo variations that Éponine usually performs. The pain was unbearable, but honestly, it’s the fact that he looks pretty in them that kept him going. Eventually, he got used to it and decided to use his newfound skill to his advantage. As a result, he’s gotten cast in comedy roles such as Ugly Stepsister #1 and the satyr from _The Dream_.

At least with this next production, all that time spent working on getting over the box will be put to good use in a major role. While Grantaire is sad that he won’t get to do as many jumps or leaps as he usually does, he also won’t have to worry about lifting anyone. He is a little worried for Enjolras’s arms, though, because he isn’t exactly a petite ninety-pound ballerina who can easily be lifted overhead with one arm. However, Enjolras has trained extensively, and Grantaire is about as close to petite and ninety pounds as a man can get. He’s shorter than the average male dancer and Bahorel lifts him up pretty easily when they go sparring together. Pulling on street shoes, he stands back up and catches Joly on his way out to walk back home together.

The next morning, Grantaire takes half an hour just to pull out a pair of new pointe shoes and prepare them, sewing ribbons and elastics and breaking them in by stepping on them. It feels strange getting back into them during rehearsal but also liberating at the same time. Éponine wolf-whistles from across the room when he steps up en pointe and does an arabesque. Grantaire has the distinct feeling that she’s admiring his ass, but honestly, that’s expected. He winks and blows a kiss at her which she catches and smacks against her cheek.

“R, darling, you look positively angelic this morning,” Courfeyrac says, interrupting his warm-up.

Grantaire looks down at his pastel green shirt that’s already halfway soaked with sweat and at the matching leg warmers over his tights. He raises an incredulous eyebrow and asks, “Really?”

“Of course! It’s just a general rule that all dancers are, like, gorgeous. You’re no exception, pretty boy. Now, help me stretch out.”

Grantaire complies, pink staining his cheeks at Courfeyrac’s words. He really has no choice but to believe him, so he just hmphs and looks down.

In the middle of the room, Enjolras is already going over steps and choreography with Fantine, who guides him with a firm voice. Grantaire has to lean against the barre and just stare for a while, at Enjolras’s long lines and the way he holds himself. His musculature is admirable, and Grantaire finds himself unable to look away. It would be difficult not to simply swoon into Enjolras’s arms like a lovestruck maiden despite the fact that he is going to have to play exactly that. This does not bode well for him. At all. Oh, how he laments his sanity for the next few months.

* * *

Enjolras takes a deep breath and shakes out his limbs. He is used to hours upon hours of drilling steps and such, but Fantine has been ruthless in her direction thus far.

“R, allongé. Alright, Enjolras. Make sure you lift him like this-” she demonstrates where his arms go, “-and please, _please_ don’t drop him. Back straight.”

Grantaire giggles from behind them, and Enjolras rolls his eyes, more or less fondly, turning around and retorting, “Just don’t be too ticklish, and we’ll have no problems.”

“That, I’m afraid, is completely out of my control, so you’ll just have to deal.”

Enjolras pinches the bridge of his nose at how insufferable Grantaire is, so he just reaches out and grabs him by the waist, against his better judgement, and brings him close, back pressed flush against his chest. Grantaire turns his head and just glares at him in surprise, and Enjolras smiles at the way his face turns steadily redder.

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to lift you just yet,” he says as he lets go, exasperated. “A lift requires trust on both ends. Especially for the overhead ones Fantine wants.”

It’s a little disarming having Grantaire so close. In fact, they have never even reached this level of intimacy in a performance before. It’s not even common for two principal dancers of the same gender to be in the same production. Enjolras regrets not bringing this up to the directors earlier. Grantaire’s eyes are the clearest blue he has ever seen, and his hair looks soft and smells like flowers. Honestly, Enjolras also has no idea why he ever thought partnering with Combeferre would ever be preferable over Grantaire. Sure, Combeferre is one of his best friends and definitely who he’s closest with in the company, but firstly, he’s the same height. That was honestly just Enjolras not thinking this through enough.

Enjolras has watched Grantaire dance in a multitude of shows to show his support. His leaps are light and graceful, always reaching an unbelievable height, and his turns are pretty much always perfect. It’s honestly a shame Grantaire won’t be able to do many of them in _Romeo and Juliet_ because Enjolras never fails to feel a certain adrenaline rush whenever he watches him perform. It’s like witnessing art being born onstage. Of course, letting Grantaire know would just give him free reign to laugh at him, so Enjolras keeps it to himself.

Now, Enjolras has Grantaire in his arms, and suddenly he knows how Romeo felt after seeing Juliet for the first time. Erm, disregarding the fact that she was fourteen. Grantaire is pliant in his movements and would follow easily where Enjolras leads.

Fantine’s voice interrupts his thoughts, “Stop flirting, boys, and get into position.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and pointedly does not look at Grantaire’s face. In doing so, he misses the red flush that spreads across his cheeks and down his neck. Instead, Enjolras plants his hands firmly on his partner’s waist, reveling in the shiver that he elicits, and whispers, “Ready?”

Grantaire grunts in affirmation, so Enjolras braces his arms and lifts at the same time that he jumps. He manages to hold the position for a full ten seconds before Fantine nods and gestures for him to lower Grantaire. Enjolras does not let go until Grantaire’s feet are firmly on the floor. They’re both panting from the exertion and the exhilaration used for just a moment of work.

“By the time the balcony pas de deux is over, your-” Fantine gestures to Grantaire, “-legs will be gone and your-” she gestures to Enjolras, “-arms will be gone. Enjolras, I hope you know what you got yourself into.”

Enjolras grits his teeth and nods, “Of course. If you think I’m going to back out of this, I’m not sure you know me at all, Madame.”

Grantaire hums, “Same. He’s doing all the heavy lifting anyway, pun fully intended.”

“That’s not the only thing. I’ve seen the way you two act towards each other during rehearsal. Whatever petty things you argue over, I, quite frankly, don’t care about. Being partners doesn’t only mean trust when you step onstage. It means trust literally everywhere, so spend some time together outside of rehearsal or whatever. I should not have to give relationship advice.”

“So, you basically want us to become friends,” Enjolras says, a little dumbly. Who can blame him? It’s not like his brain has ever worked in proximity to Grantaire, anyway.

The man in question doubles over, laughing, and wheezes, “Enjolras, you sound so offended! _I_ should be offended you don’t already consider me to be your friend.”

He punctuates this with a pout and the saddest kitten eyes Enjolras has ever seen on someone. He can’t even begin to deny that that face is just ridiculously cute. In retaliation, Enjolras narrows his eyes and reaches out to squeeze his waist, eliciting even more giggles. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Fantine staring at them in shock, but pays her no mind, only continuing to tickle Grantaire until they’re both on the floor and panting.

Nobody hears Fantine brush her hands together and mutter, “Looks like my job here is done then. I don’t get paid enough for this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are multiple adaptations of this ballet, but I lean towards MacMillan's choreography the most simply because it's gorgeous and romantic.


	2. Preparing for the Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ballet needs to be promoted, and what better way than with photos and videos? The world goes more than a little wild.

“Higher, R. Good.”

Sometimes, Grantaire appreciates his flexibility, and now is one such instance. Fantine has been heckling him to no end, telling him to “get that leg up higher” or “bend over Enjolras’s arm like you’re fainting”. That second one is not exactly a problem, as he seems to do that without instruction, but there is not one day that his thighs and calves don’t scream at him to stop. The sheer number of shoes he’s gone through in this short period of time is truly astounding too. He will be eternally grateful to the company for providing pointe shoes, if he’s grateful for anything.

On the next cue from the piano, Grantaire mimes drinking from a bottle and plays up the theatrical aspect of his dancing. Fantine hums approvingly and tells the pianist to stop.

“I think you’re going to do great, R.”

Later that day, they get costumes fitted with Musichetta. The company hired her talents for a reason, and that is because she is simply a goddess when it comes to sewing. Joly and Bossuet certainly don’t mind, and Grantaire is more than thankful. He gets nice costumes that don’t itch, and they are form-fitting enough for each character he plays but never so restricting that he can’t dance freely in them. The “Juliet” costume is no exception.

Honestly, Grantaire would have been fine with wearing a dress or whatever nightgown thingy Juliet usually wears in the production. It isn’t like this would be his first time wearing a dress for the Paris Opera, but apparently Enjolras has different ideas about the costumes as well. Something about putting him in a traditional female role being backwards to his cause. Instead, Grantaire gets an ivory doublet like any of the other male characters and a pale green shirt that hangs loose around his torso and cinches around his wrists for the end of Act I and on.

“Turn around for me,” Musichetta says, around a mouthful of pins. “Lift your arms. I need to see if the shirt restricts movement.”

“You sure you’re not just gonna stare at my butt?” Grantaire teases. Musichetta just smacks aforementioned butt, and he yelps, which is fair because he totally had it coming.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling,” she walks around until she’s facing him again and says, “Ohhh, you are _very_ pretty.”

Grantaire’s cheeks pinken, and Musichetta pats one of them fondly and continues, “And you blush so prettily too. Enjolras is a lucky, lucky man.”

“If anybody here is lucky, it’s me. Do you know how many girls would kill for the opportunity to dance with him? I’m fairly certain he has a whole _fanclub_ in the company just waiting to murder me in cold-hearted envy.”

“Psh. They’re just jealous that they aren’t as talented as you and that you have nicer feet.”

Grantaire has to laugh at that one because if anyone but a dancer ever mentioned anything about nice feet, he would look at them weirdly and quickly back away. Musichetta has been around him and his friends since their days at school and is dating both Joly and Bossuet, so she has been more or less initiated into the ballet world herself.

“If only they knew of the lengths I had to go to just for my naturally high arches. And my oversplit. Huh, I knew there was a reason they promoted me to principal.”

Musichetta snorts, “Well, maybe they should be jealous of Enjolras instead. I’m sure a large percentage of them would be delighted at getting to stare at your perfect face all day, so like I said, Enjolras is a lucky man.”

Grantaire takes off his costume at Musichetta’s request, shameless in his half-naked self because there is nothing here that she hasn’t seen a multitude of times. She kisses his cheek and sends him off with another fond pat to his ass. He tugs his shirt back on and re-emerges, just to come face-to-face with a scowling Enjolras.

“Not excited to be stuffed into a doublet?” Grantaire has to ask. Enjolras’s face is a lot less friendly, so curiosity simply gets the better of him.

The storm over Enjolras’s eyes passes quickly, and he replies, “Huh? Oh, no. ‘Chetta’s good at what she does. It’s just that rehearsal was… tougher than usual. Something about the story just irks me, y’know? Love at first sight is such a farce, and falling in love with a fourteen-year-old at that. Not that I’m implying that you’re fourteen. Or that nobody would fall in love with you. Fuck, I’m just really tired, R.”

Without really thinking this through, Grantaire lifts his arms and lets Enjolras fall forward into them. Slumped over, Enjolras is almost at Grantaire’s height, so Grantaire rubs at his shoulders and presses his thumbs into those muscles. Enjolras releases a sigh, and all the tension seems to seep out of him at once.

When Enjolras straightens, Grantaire looks up into those beautiful blue eyes of his and says earnestly, “It’s okay to be tired once in a while. Even for someone whose drive is as constant as yours. And this is your triumph, your _magnum opus_ , and I’ll be here all the way for you. I- I believe in you, Enjolras.”

The expression on Enjolras’s face is nothing short of gobsmacked before it softens into a smile. Grantaire gasps a little when he finds himself suddenly engulfed in a hug. He relaxes into the arms he’s become rather familiar with and listens to Enjolras’s pounding heartbeat, strong and steady.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Grantaire jumps a little at the sound of Musichetta’s voice, and reluctantly pulls away from the warm embrace. He blushes fiercely and covers his face with his hands but not before catching a glimpse of Enjolras’s own pink cheeks.

“W-we were just practicing. Like, for all those hugging scenes. So many hugging scenes, right, Enj?” Grantaire stammers, hoping Enjolras takes his cue.

“Right, of course. Hugging. A crucial part of this ballet,” Enjolras responds, but his mouth is twitching into a smile. When Grantaire pouts at him, he just has to laugh. Meanwhile, Musichetta watches this disaster unfold with her hands on her hips. It’s like the equivalent of a car crash: horrible, but you just can’t look away.

“Well, if you lovebirds are done, I’m ready for you to be fitted, Enjolras.”

Grantaire doesn’t hear the rest of it because he’s still feeling more than a little light-headed from being so close to Enjolras. At least when he’s dancing, he can focus more on the steps rather than the feeling of being embraced.

* * *

Enjolras slides his arms into the sleeves of the blue doublet and remarks, “I prefer red.”

Musichetta only hums, “Bahorel’s costume is red. You’ll clash if you also wear red. Clashing costumes and clashing swords. Damn, Enj, you’re not making this easy for me.”

Enjolras shrugs and says, “I mean, blue is fine too.”

“Considering you look hot in anything and everything, I definitely agree. Besides, you don’t even need to wear it for an entire act. And then you get a red cloak. _A red cloak, Enjolras_ ,” Musichetta emphasizes with a jab of a pin. “Yep, okay, it fits almost perfectly.”

“That’s good, I guess.”  
  


“Now, I would be remiss not to ask: what are your intentions toward R?” Musichetta asks as she hands him a white shirt.

Enjolras simply stares, not quite understanding. He responds with another question, “Intentions?”

“I only act like I don’t understand anything for darling R’s sake. Hugging? For practice? Seriously, Enjolras. You enjoyed it.”

“He’s brilliant. But we’re only colleagues. There’s not much I really _can_ do.”

“Keep telling yourself that. In fact, you’re the only one saying that.”

Changing the topic, Enjolras asks, “Why do I need another poofy shirt?”

Musichetta smirks at him and replies, “You’re supposed to be distressed in the epilogue, so you need to slowly expose more and more of your chest throughout Act II and Act III. Just to give your fans something else to ogle at.”

He stares at her in disbelief. The rest of the fitting passes, but Enjolras can only really ponder what Musichetta meant earlier. Grantaire is unique, talented, lovely, and Enjolras can go on and on with adjectives to describe him.

He mutters to himself, “A friend. A friend and nothing more.”

* * *

Something about photos makes Grantaire more nervous than he should be. He has performed on a multitude of stages for a multitude of shows, but trying his best to actually look good while making sure he doesn’t mess up is a whole other issue. Oh, and never mind the fact that Enjolras will be there the whole time to witness his fuck-ups.

With practiced ease, Grantaire applies his eyeliner and the rest of his stage makeup to his clean-shaven face. Thankfully, his hands don’t shake as he does so. He quickly changes into tights and his poofy shirt. It floats around his torso, and feels more comfortable than any other costume he’s ever worn in the past.

After finishing his warm-ups, Grantaire gets up and arches his back to stretch it out. He changes from his canvas slippers into the performance pointe shoes he had prepared the day before, thoroughly burnt, cut, and crushed, and they mold perfectly to his feet. He does a few relevés and tendus backstage of the theatre, early for once. When Enjolras appears next to him, a whimper resolutely does not come out of his throat upon seeing his partner in his own poofy shirt, hair neatly combed and stage makeup emphasizing his perfect cheekbones. Of course he looks like a deity like this. _Of fucking course_.

Fantine announces, “Places, everyone. Balcony pas de deux. Enjolras, Grantaire, I hope you two are warm.”

Enjolras appears at Grantaire’s side and offers a smile. He smiles back shakily and asks, “Hug for good luck?”

Grantaire is pleased when Enjolras leans down and gives him a hug. It’s something they’re used to by now, and Enjolras murmurs, “We got this.”

And they do. Grantaire nails every step with a grin on his face, and Enjolras supports him the entire time, whether it is across his shoulders or in his arms. Each lift is timed perfectly with Prokofiev’s music. It’s rather impressive how easily Enjolras seems to catch him for the entire five minutes.

As the scene unfolds, Grantaire gets more and more nervous with anticipation for the end. He knows he shouldn’t be so worried over a kiss, a fake one at that, but just the idea of Enjolras kissing him is something he probably will never get used to. In fact, it’s not like they had practiced it much beforehand anyway. Fantine gave them instructions, and Grantaire executed them to the best of his ability during rehearsal.

All too soon, Grantaire is standing, facing Enjolras and looking straight into his eyes. Like they had practiced, Enjolras steps forward and gently coaxes him up en pointe before bringing their lips together. It’s not even a real kiss, just the press of an unyielding mouth against his own, but Grantaire still feels like he’s floating, only grounded by muscle memory and the pain in his legs.

For a moment, Grantaire’s mind blanks, but quickly getting back into character, he curls his arms around Enjolras’s neck and runs a hand down his defined jaw. He touches his own lips with those same fingers, playing up the character of an innocent teenager who just had their first kiss, but the giddiness he feels is all his own.

Grantaire runs up the stairs to his “balcony” and lets his fingers drop to touch Enjolras’s outstretched ones. The music stops, and Fantine yells, “Okay, stop! That was good. Beautiful. Marvelous.”

Just like that, the illusion is broken, and Grantaire releases a deep exhale and shares a relieved expression with Enjolras. They’re both flushed with exertion and sucking in as much air as possible as quickly as possible, so Bossuet better have gotten some good shots.

Backstage, Éponine nudges Grantaire’s side when he collapses onto the floor and teases, “That was pretty convincing. Are you sure you aren’t actually in love with him?”

“No comment.”

“Ooh, little R has a _crush_. Anyway, that kiss was gorgeous. I’m so glad to have witnessed it in person,” she says, nudging Grantaire in the ribs with a pointy elbow. “Just wait until all the GIFs come out.”

Grantaire, confused at Éponine’s words, stares after her as she gets up and takes her place onstage. Enjolras replaces her spot next to him. The music for “Dance of the Knights” starts, and they watch it together from the wings.

The colors are rich and vibrant, full of reds and yellows that Musichetta wove together into each costume. The dance is majestic and quite fitting of the music, even if it strays a little from the original story. Grantaire witnesses this all in awe and doesn’t quite notice when he starts leaning more and more into Enjolras’s side. By the end of the number, his legs are carelessly tossed over Enjolras’s lap, and he’s kneading at them subconsciously.

At the applause, Grantaire snaps back to the present, and his face flames at the feeling of Enjolras’s dexterous fingers digging into his calves. He clears his throat and whispers, “Ah, thanks.”

Enjolras’s hands still, and he laughs sheepishly, “Wow, okay. So we’re definitely friends now.”

Grantaire can really only stare at him in disbelief. He says, “You’re kidding right?”

“What? No, I genuinely enjoy your company. And this-” Enjolras gestures at how they’re sprawled over each other, “-is proof of how comfortable I am with you.”

* * *

The next morning the Paris Opera’s website is updated with the announcement of their production along with stills from their shoot. The studio is buzzing with excitement when Enjolras arrives with Courfeyrac and Combeferre. He meets Grantaire’s eyes in the mirror and lifts an eyebrow questioningly. The room suddenly falls silent when Enjolras asks, “What’s so exciting?”

“Holy shit. This is the first time I checked social media today, and you’re trending!” Courfeyrac squeals, shoving his phone into Enjolras’s face. On it is a close-up of his own face, which is rather awkward. Courfeyrac scrolls through all the comments, and Enjolras sees the occasional, _“OMG HE’S SO HANDSOME!!!”_ and _“I can’t wait for this ahhhHHHH <3!”_

Enjolras, a little desperate to get away from Courfeyrac in his grinning state, plods over to the corner and starts stretching next to Grantaire. He watches Grantaire sink into a plié from behind, not to stare at his shapely butt clad in skintight shorts, and says, “Well, looks like I got the attention I wanted. Not necessarily the attention I expected, but I’m glad there’s more or less of a positive reaction.”

Grantaire turns around, causing Enjolras to briefly mourn the loss of such a nice view, and replies a little shyly, “Yeah. I’m just happy to be a part of all this. So I suppose I should thank you.”

“Hmm? Oh, don’t thank me. You’re very talented, R. I’m sure many people tell you this, but you deserve to know.”

Enjolras watches in fascination as Grantaire’s cheeks turn that lovely shade of red that he adores so much. The conversation slowly peters out, and they finish the remainder of their stretches in silence.

* * *

Courfeyrac’s eyes have been glued to his phone for a large portion of the afternoon. Technically, he’s dead already, so the only thing he really has to do is stretch and scroll through social media. Videos of Enjolras and Grantaire dancing have already been released to the public this morning, so Courfeyrac is just waiting (im)patiently for the comments and GIFs to start rolling in.

He is so invested in his journey through Tumblr that he doesn’t notice his boyfriend creep up on him.

“What are you looking for so frantically?” Combeferre asks from over his shoulder.

Courfeyrac fumbles with his phone for a moment before turning it face down in his lap. He replies innocently, “Absolutely nothing! … Okay well, maybe, just _maybe_ I was stalking the hashtags for ‘The Big Gay Shakespeare Ballet’ a little obsessively?”

“A _little?_ ”

“Okay, maybe more than a little. I just want Enj to be happy, y’know?”

Combeferre hums in agreement and gives Courfeyrac a hug before reassuring him, “They’ll get together, as stubborn as their asses can be sometimes. Help me stretch?”

Courfeyrac begrudgingly sets his phone down and pushes on Combeferre’s back as he does a butterfly stretch.

Literally less than a minute later, his phone _pings_ with a notification sound, and he lets go of his boyfriend, who lets out an indignant, “Hey!” just to open up Tumblr. He is not disappointed. There are so many GIFs. _So many._ GIFs of Enjolras lifting Grantaire, GIFs of Enjolras looking at Grantaire, and most importantly, GIFs of Enjolras kissing Grantaire.

“Oh my God, oh my God, OH MY GOD! ‘Ferre, look at these. Let me know when Enj and R come out of rehearsal because I _need_ to show them.”

Combeferre sighs, “You know you can just watch for them right?”

Courfeyrac flutters a hand impatiently at his face and replies, “No, no. You don’t get it. All my attention will be diverted right here, on this tiny device made by a capitalistic business, and no, you can’t stop me.”

The rest of the break is spent liking every single post made, and he all but jumps to his feet when Enjolras and Grantaire enter the room. He takes a flying leap to the door and all but shoves his screen into Grantaire’s face. The man squeaks and nearly falls over in surprise, but Enjolras steadies him with a hand on the small of his back.

“Jesus Christ, Courf. You nearly killed me,” Grantaire wheezes, clutching his chest above his heart. “What’s this?”

Courfeyrac grins so widely, even he’s afraid for his own cheeks. He sings, “You two are famous now! Here, look at all these posts.”

It’s really quite adorable how wide Grantaire’s beautiful blue eyes go in the span of a second. Courfeyrac has to resist the urge to coo at his cute blush too.

“Oh and before you forget, look at the comments too.”

Vibrating in excitement, he bounces on his toes as Grantaire hands the phone to his partner, who adopts a similarly embarrassed and shocked expression.

“Why would you show me this?” Grantaire moans, trying to cover his red face with his hands.

Courfeyrac pries them away gently and replies, “Well, why not? The public has a generally positive opinion about it, if you’re asking me. Unless… what’s bothering you are the comments?”

The way Grantaire _meeps_ and buries his face in Enjolras’s shoulder is answer enough. Courfeyrac’s grin takes on a shit-eating quality as Enjolras pats Grantaire’s hair reassuringly.

“If it’s any consolation, R, I agree,” Enjolras remarks a little absently.

“It’s _not._ ”

Courfeyrac shrugs and takes his phone back. Looking at it, he understands what got Grantaire so flustered.

“Ooh, okay. _‘Wow who is Juliet? He’s so pretty.’_ Yep, sounds about right. _‘Enjolras is so lucky to be able to kiss such a gorgeous man.’_ Mhm, agreed. _‘Would you look at that a-’_ Hey!”

Grantaire snatches it from Courfeyrac’s hands and goes back to burying his face into his partner’s shoulder. He mumbles, “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. Enj, give him some more headpats,” Courfeyrac advises. Combeferre tuts from the side, but Courfeyrac just knows that he’s holding in laughter at their friends’ expense.

The door opens again and Joly walks in, Bossuet and Musichetta in tow. Joly exclaims, “Ooh, are we looking at beautiful R again? I’m excited.”

“I’m not-”

Joly presses a finger to Grantaire’s lips, “Hush. Yes you are. Courf, show me.”

“Just look up '#thebiggayshakespeareballet' or something like that. It’s trending on Twitter.”

“Hoo boy. That’s one hell of a hashtag. Accurate though… ohhh, this is simply gorgeous,” Joly sighs. “Boss, you really did a great job shooting, and ‘Chetta, your costumes are lovely as usual. How’s your back, Enjolras?”

Enjolras laughs and replies, “It’s never been better.”

The room collectively holds a breath as Joly scrolls a little further. Courfeyrac is amused as Joly’s face scrunches up, “Oh. OH. Wow, um. R, wha-”

“Yep. Ignore them,” Grantaire interjects.

Enjolras, however, says, to everyone’s surprise, “No, please continue.”

The betrayed expression on Grantaire’s face is really felt by the whole room.

“Y-you… this is my _butt_ we’re talking about here. Who are you, and what have you done with my Enjolras?”

Courfeyrac raises an eyebrow and asks, “Your Enjolras?”

Grantaire somehow becomes even more flustered when he stutters, “N-no, I meant-”

Enjolras interrupts, “I’m still here, y'know. I’ve just been exposed to the glory that is R’s butt. I used to be an atheist, but now I’m a converted man.”

Now, the whole room is staring at him, wide-eyed. Courfeyrac breaks out of his stupor first and exclaims, “Well! This is something I never thought I’d witness. Are you drunk? Or tired? Is it getting a little hot in here? Or is it just me? ‘Ferre, let’s get out of here before Enj suddenly decides R is prettier than I am.”

He grabs Combeferre by the hand and drags him out the door, but not before taking his phone back from Grantaire’s slackened grip. Courfeyrac waves to everyone, “Bye guys! Have fun! Courf OUT!”

Before they’re out of earshot, he hears Enjolras reply, “But he is,” and Grantaire ask, “What the fuck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fanfiction, it is totally possible for fanfiction to exist. It's like Inception, but with stories instead... that being said, RPF is still weird, but it's a fic inside a fic, so who cares. Also _Romeo and Juliet_ : kissing is going to be a thing, but it's all fake. Or is it?
> 
> They might be a little ooc in this fic, but this is entirely self-indulgent. Besides, nobody said that Enj wouldn't worship R's ass.


	3. Love Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rehearsal is strenuous, but Enjolras and Grantaire are both stubborn idiots.

Whatever happened last week, Enjolras will blame it on the back-to-back rehearsals. He arrives at the studio half-asleep most of the time until he has his morning cup of coffee, infused with a pump of righteousness and topped with low-fat Barricade Day milk. He departs from the fair trade coffee shop with two cups completely out of habit.

Because rehearsals have been starting earlier and earlier and ending later and later, Enjolras spends the majority of his time with Grantaire. They have gotten to know each other quite well by now, and that apparently includes each other’s coffee order. Enjolras can confidently say that they are comfortable enough to bring each other coffee without fear of being poisoned. That being said, Grantaire’s order is ridiculous. It should honestly not come as a surprise to learn that he has a sweet tooth, what with all the cookies and muffins he bakes for the company during the holidays. However, whipped cream on top of an already sweetened coffee seems a little too much. How he even keeps that figure of his is beyond Enjolras. It doesn’t matter, though, because seeing Grantaire’s delighted face and adorable foam mustache every other morning is definitely worth it.

This morning is slightly different. As it turns out, Grantaire is already at the studio when Enjolras walks in. Fantine is guiding him through a variety of steps, arabesques and pirouettes, all en pointe.

“-and you have to play the part of a girl who doesn’t want to get married. She’s supposed to be young and mischievous, which you are. I am so glad I made such a good casting decision.”

Enjolras hears Grantaire’s laughter, soft and sweet, and he kind of just melts on the spot. Through the rectangular window in the door, Enjolras continues to watch Grantaire, taking note of his vividly expressive face. Love is portrayed by hands clasped to his chest and eyes shining so brightly, even Enjolras can see it at this distance. Grief is portrayed by jerkier motions, and the pain is etched so deeply on Grantaire’s face that Enjolras wants to envelop him in a hug and comfort him. He is simply gorgeous when he dances, holding back absolutely nothing.

Now that Grantaire is very obviously in his element, Enjolras can admire his flexibility and the taut muscles of his calves and thighs outlined and visible through his leggings, which upon further inspection, are printed with tiny cat faces. At this point, Enjolras is familiar with every contour of Grantaire’s body in a way that is not creepy at all. In return, his partner should be just as familiar with him as well. Enjolras spends more time tracing his hands down Grantaire’s torso according to the choreography than he does talking to Combeferre these days.

Fishing out a red bandana from his bag, Enjolras ties it in his blond hair to keep it out of his face while he warms up a little outside. He stretches his arms to the side and opens the door to the studio, greeting both occupants.

Grantaire makes a beeline for the coffee while Fantine tuts and says, “Don’t drink too quickly, or you might get cramps.”

Enjolras watches in amusement as Grantaire ignores her in favor of chugging the entire cup, wipes his mouth, and moans a little in relief, “Thanks, Enj. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Of course. What scene are we doing right now?” Enjolras asks, turning his attention toward Fantine.

“The first meeting after the Capulets’ ball.”

* * *

“Nice tights,” Enjolras says, nodding at Grantaire’s legs after their little session. “Very stylish.”

“Says you, Monsieur Black-on-Black-on-Black,” Grantaire huffs. “At least I _have_ style.”

“I meant no offense. Kittens are very cute.”

Grantaire takes Enjolras’s outstretched hand and yanks himself up. He accidentally pulls a little too hard, and the momentum sends him flying straight into Enjolras’s arms with an _oof_.

“Oh, hello. I’ve met you before,” he says, voice muffled by Enjolras’s chest.

Enjolras snorts and asks, “Are you talking to me or my chest?”

“Both? Both. Both are good.”

Grantaire yelps when Enjolras suddenly grabs hold of his waist and tosses him unceremoniously over a shoulder. Unable to do anything but pound at Enjolras’s back with his fists, Grantaire simply flops there and adopts a grumpy expression. Honestly, he’s not complaining that Enjolras feels that their relationship is close enough for this much casual touching, and if he wants to break his back from carting his ass around, that is all on him. This is pretty nice.

“I feel like some sort of Greek princess being kidnapped and carried off by her future husband.”

“But we’ve already been wedded like ten times at least. By Jehan.”

Grantaire feels his cheeks heat, either from the blood rushing to his head from being upside-down or by how casually Enjolras mentions them being “married”.

“That’s good and all, but my ass is literally on display right now.”

Enjolras gives it a fond pat and shifts Grantaire in his arms until he is settled comfortably in a bridal hold. Grantaire covers his face with a squeak, unused to this kind of attention from his friends, especially now that Enjolras has a perfect view of his facial expressions. He presses closer against Enjolras’s warm torso and links his fingers behind his neck.

“Free transportation. You’re a blessing to society,” Grantaire remarks sarcastically with a smile. “Do you let everyone ride in your arms like this?”

Enjolras rolls his blue eyes, and replies, “Nah, only those who make snarky comments about favors I do for them.”

Courfeyrac intercepts them in the hallway and whistles, “Wow, you guys seem comfy. Is this part of rehearsal too or…?”

Grantaire flips him off and says, “Actually, yes. I literally have to sit in his arms during the balcony pas de deux.”

“Okay, I was just wondering because you two are getting more and more cozy around each other every time I see you,” Courfeyrac responds in a lilting voice. “In fact, why don’t you carry me like that, Enj? Is it because my butt isn’t as nice as R’s? Is it because you hate me?!”

“Courf, I am literally forced to listen to you and ‘Ferre go at it like rabbits morning and night like dance doesn’t already wear you out, and I still don’t hate you. Speaking of Combeferre, tell him to cart you around,” Enjolras says, tightening his hold on Grantaire while he flails at Courfeyrac’s bold statement about his rear.

“Hey, how would you know what my butt feels like?” Grantaire asks, curious. “It could be soft and squishy for all you know.”

“Oh, please. Like _that’s_ possible. Besides, I’m sure Enjolras here wouldn’t mind ‘soft and squishy’ either.”

In the main studio, Enjolras sets Grantaire down gently to everyone’s stares. Grantaire mockingly curtsies for them as they all start clapping like they did a fish dive or something extravagant. Fantine clears her throat to get everyone’s attention, but she’s also grinning like a cat who got the canary.

“Very nice, very nice, but we have work to do. Places, everyone!”

* * *

Six hours, a lot of jumping, and even more sore muscles later, Enjolras sinks onto the ground with a groan of relief. All his joints seem to crackle and pop when he moves just an inch. The studio is empty save for himself, Grantaire, and Fantine, and it’s almost dark outside. The only logical thing to ask is, “Hey, R. Wanna get hot chocolate with me?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah sure.”

Enjolras tugs on his street clothes over his T-shirt and leggings and watches as Grantaire shimmies into skinny jeans and a green cable-knit sweater that looks extremely soft and cozy. They each wind scarves around their necks to combat the chill.

“So… where do you have in mind,” Grantaire asks once they’re on the street.

“There’s an Angelina nearby. They have good chocolate for how pricey it is,” Enjolras says, and they walk briskly, weaving around tourists expertly. Their bags are kept in front of them to protect from audacious pickpockets, although the only really expensive thing in them would be Grantaire’s pointe shoes.

Waiting in line in the bustling café, Enjolras notices Grantaire doing an unconscious rond de jambe while typing on his phone and nearly laughs before realizing that he, himself is standing in a perfect first position, turned out and all. 

Enjolras sighs and nudges his companion, who looks like he's literally about to casually execute a penché, “This ballet really is getting to us. We can’t even wait in line like normal human beings.”

Grantaire looks up from his phone at the sound of Enjolras’s voice, “Wha- huh? Oh, shit, we're so pathetic.”

The old lady behind them glares, but they ignore her. The person behind the register calls for them, and Enjolras quickly orders and takes out his wallet. Grantaire stops him with a hand on his wrist.

“You got coffee this morning. I’m paying.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re getting us coffee tomorrow.”

“Yeah, well, anything in the name of equality, darling,” Grantaire says before handing over the correct amount of money. Enjolras gives him a deadpan expression, but the adorably smug look on Grantaire’s face is worth letting him pay. The cashier looks between them, shrugs, and gives them their hot chocolate.

“Equality, R? Really? That was a low blow,” Enjolras says as they exit.

“What? It bought me enough time,” Grantaire replies, grinning up at him before taking a sip. Enjolras immediately gets distracted again by the pleased moan that he lets out.

“This was supposed to be my treat, y’know,” he says, drinking out of his own cup.

“You can pay next time.”

The idea of getting hot chocolate together after a long day of rehearsal becoming a continuous thing sounds ridiculously appealing to Enjolras. He hides his smile behind the brim of his cup.

They must be the worst Parisians in existence because before they know it, they’ve wandered, _yes, wandered,_ into the public gardens. Grantaire collapses onto a park bench almost immediately and sighs, rubbing his calves. Enjolras sits down next to him and pats his lap, indicating for him to lift his legs up across them. Grantaire hums contentedly when Enjolras starts massaging them and gasps when his thumbs dig into a particularly tense spot.

The people who walk past pay them no attention, as if two men sprawled across each other is a regular occurrence. That is, everyone except one lady and her friend who stares at them long enough for Enjolras to become slightly uncomfortable. He takes out his phone to answer Combeferre’s texts.

“Oh! I recognize you two! I’m so looking forward to your show. Oh my gosh, are you guys on a date?” the woman squeals, covering her mouth with her hands.

Enjolras, not quite paying attention, absently replies, “Yeah,” at the same time Grantaire asks, “Huh, what?”

Contrary to many assumptions, Enjolras is not competent enough outside of ballet to multitask, and nothing he says while he’s focused on something else should be taken seriously.

“Uh, the nice lady asked if we were on a date, Enj,” Grantaire mutters.

Enjolras looks up from his phone and quickly amends, “Sorry, we’re not on a date. I must have misheard you. We’re just partners.”

Next to him, Grantaire snorts, “Not exactly helping.”

The woman continues, “Well, either way, my girlfriend-” she indicates to whom Enjolras had originally and incorrectly assumed was only a friend, “-and I are really excited for gay _Romeo and Juliet_. You two dance so beautifully, and I think it’s really progressive of you to do this when the classical ballet world is not.”

Enjolras, taken aback, replies, “Thank you for your kind words. Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Um, monsieurs, I have a tiny request if you don’t mind?”

“Go on,” Grantaire answers, and she asks them to pose for a picture.

“The one at the beginning of the balcony pas de deux, where you lean in his arms, and he’s looking at you.”

They’re in a garden in casual clothing, but Enjolras dips Grantaire to the best of his ability and stretches out an arm. By now, a few others have started watching them, but Enjolras pays them no mind, considering this free advertisement. The lady’s phone goes off, and she thanks them both profusely before grabbing her girlfriend’s hand and walking away.

“Thank God she didn’t ask for a lift. My arms would’ve given out right then and there,” Enjolras breathes, pulling Grantaire upright.

“Nah, I’ve seen what they can do. I have the utmost faith in them,” Grantaire laughs, giving his arms a fond pat. “They support me in all my endeavors. I’m sure they will be sad when I’m sent off to university.”

“Noooo, stay in my arms. They’ll miss you,” Enjolras replies a little deliriously.

Grantaire blushes and mutters, “Then give me a hug,” and when Enjolras complies, hums, “Mmm, so warm and comfy.”

When it’s dark out, Enjolras walks Grantaire back to his apartment, and they talk about everything from prejudice in the ballet world to dismantling the hierarchy of ballet companies to how many kittens Grantaire should adopt.

“I can’t really adopt them right now because we’re not home enough to take care of them, sadly. But when I do, you’ll have the right to name one,” Grantaire says softly.

Enjolras feels so much fondness for his companion, and they’re standing in front of Grantaire’s apartment before they even know it. The door opens, and Joly sticks his head out, exclaiming, “Hey, R, glad to see you back in one piece! Oh, and you too, Enj! Nice of him to bring you back to our humble abode.”

Grantaire grunts and steps over the threshold, but not before tentatively reaching up to peck Enjolras’s cheek and telling him, “I had fun. Thanks.”

If Enjolras walks back to his own apartment with a tiny spring in his step, he can just blame it on channeling his character a little too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot chocolate not-dates... is there anything as romantic? *hides* Not me mentioning Grantaire's butt more than twice in a chapter.
> 
> In case anyone's wondering what low-fat Barricade Day milk is, [this](https://cx-shhhh.tumblr.com/post/636263490059911168/i-have-no-clue-what-low-fat-barricade-day-milk-is) is the origin.


	4. Juliet Refuses to Marry Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bunch of rehearsal scenes ft. Grantaire swooning.

Grantaire doesn’t really mind Montparnasse. He really doesn’t. He does, however, regret wearing a shirt that is just a little on the short side. When he put it on this morning, he thought it was cute, and Bossuet seemed to agree when he laughed at the cat pun and then proceeded to trip over his own feet. However, feeling Montparnasse’s cold fingers directly on his midsection fills him with all sorts of disgust. More than once, he feels the irrational urge to kick him so hard in the nuts, he feels it through his dance belt.

Maybe it’s the fact that Grantaire is so used to Enjolras’s warm hands and warm overall presence that he misses him more than he should. Now, after Montparnasse grabs him a little too firmly around the waist for the second time, he knows exactly how Juliet felt in Act II. 

The lifts are horrid too. Grantaire can’t help but compare the ease Enjolras lifts him with to Montparnasse’s struggle just to get him off the ground. Judging by the way Fantine pinches the bridge of her nose, she is definitely just as emotionally done.

“Put your back into it. Just using your arms won’t do anything. R’s not a dainty ballerina, but he’s not exactly the heaviest person in the company either. In fact, you just have to lift him for like three seconds at a time too.”

Grantaire watches as Montparnasse’s frown only grows. They fumble a few more times before Fantine sighs and tells them, “I’ll be right back. Don’t kill each other.”

Right when she leaves, Montparnasse sneers and says, “Why can’t you do more? I feel like I’m the one carrying this pas de deux.”

Grantaire throws his hands up in exasperation and exclaims, “You must be blind to think that I’m not doing all I can! Those jetés? You’re only there to support me. Those pirouettes? You’re only there to keep me balanced. The lifts are literally the only thing you have to do right. _But you aren’t._ If I had a choice, I’d do this entire number myself.”

“Well, too bad. If anything, you should be lighter-”

Montparnasse doesn’t get to finish his statement, and Grantaire doesn’t get to punch his annoying face in because the door slams open first. Enjolras marches in, looking like a righteous archangel, blue eyes blazing with fury.

_“What did you just fucking say?”_ he growls, fisting a hand in Montparnasse’s shirt. If Grantaire was in his position, he would be terrified for his life right now. Instead, he’s witnessing Enjolras become the living reincarnation of an avenging Greek god, and honestly, it’s turning him on a little.

Montparnasse whimpers, and Grantaire thinks, _Go Enjolras! Teach that little bitch._

“Apologize,” Enjolras says in that same low voice. “Before I do something we’ll all regret.”

Enjolras shakes him a few times, and Grantaire only barely catches his squeaked apology. Grantaire makes his way over to Enjolras’s side and puts a hand over his clenched fist to silently tell him to let Montparnasse go. Enjolras immediately relaxes and releases his grasp on his shirt.

Grantaire looks at Montparnasse’s disheveled appearance and replies, “I forgive you.”

Fantine, having watched this whole episode with an expression of curiosity, claps her hands and says, “Well, now that that drama is over with, Enjolras, show him how it’s done.”

Grantaire’s body is buzzing in excitement to be back in Enjolras’s arms, and he doesn’t even bother to hide his smile when he’s suddenly in an overhead lift in the span of a second. Music plays in Grantaire’s mind, the orchestra swelling up to that moment. Enjolras’s hands are familiar on his waist, not too firm and not too gentle. When he comes face-to-face with his partner again, Grantaire notes how Enjolras’s eyes are no longer full of righteous fire, but instead filled with a resonant warmth. The harshness from earlier has completely melted off his face and seeped out of his bones.

Without another word, Enjolras exchanges a look with Fantine and tugs Grantaire out of the room. He follows out of curiosity. They end up in the locker room when he finds himself suddenly swallowed up in a hug. It’s a little stifling, and Enjolras smells like deodorant mixed with sweat, but Grantaire can’t bring himself to mind. The only thing rattling around in his brain is the feeling of safety, and it nearly brings him to tears.

Grantaire sniffles and laughs wetly, “I’m not some sort of damsel in distress, y’know. I can fend for myself.”

“Oh, I’m plenty aware. I just heard the last part of what he said, and I couldn’t even think over the sound of my own anger.”

Grantaire smiles at the floor, sighing, “I’m not even surprised at this point. It’s you versus all things wrong in the world, and nothing else matters.”

Enjolras reaches up to card a hand through Grantaire’s thick curls, and what he says next makes Grantaire fall a little more in love with him: “That’s where you’re wrong. You matter a lot to me too.”

* * *

“Up, up, down, up, down, around, up, down. That’s the basic structure. Keep your back arm up, and remember to travel,” Lamarque instructs Enjolras and Bahorel. “Sword fighting is essentially another dance.”

The fake swords are on the floor and off to the side, so they can practice the motions without them first. Enjolras moves his arm in imitation of the sword and twirls accordingly. The only thing more strenuous than the fight choreography would probably be partnering Grantaire. Bahorel is a wonderful Tybalt and certainly does not go easy on him either. The pianist in the corner speeds through the scene, and Enjolras thinks his heart pounds faster with the music.

Then, of course, they need to rehearse with the swords. All of a sudden, the room is filled with a lot of clanging, and Enjolras might go deaf. They land some hits, but not all, and the times they don’t feel a little too awkward.

“The sound is important because then the audience knows that it’s a fight, so they can feel the urgency. _Romeo and Juliet_ is more about the emotions than the technique. Romeo is avenging Mercutio’s death at this point, so you’d better start getting angry, Enjolras.”

The two of them attempt to run the scene again, and they nearly make it to the end when the swords just miss each other completely. Bahorel fumbles, causing Enjolras to fumble, and they kind of just stare at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing.

Bahorel’s shirt accidentally rips down his chest from his collar as he flails his arms around in the air and tosses his foil down. He doesn’t even notice the tear and exclaims, “You’ve killed me, Enj. Murdered me completely.”

Enjolras pokes Bahorel's side with his own sword and leans against the barre. After catching his breath, they go for another hour. By the end of the rehearsal, he tries to let go of his sword and put it down, but his grip has been so tight that he literally has no command over his own fingers.

“Uh, should I get used to this?” Enjolras asks after prying the sword from his right hand with his left. “The Balanchine claw is interesting, but this really is something else.”

Bahorel laughs and jabs at his ribs good-naturedly, “Balanchine claw? More like the Enjolras cup-holder.”

“Quick, get me some coffee!”

* * *

Grantaire breaks in another pair of practice pointe shoes, pressing up onto his toes. By now, he’s gotten used to being in pain for hours on end, but Joly makes sure he goes through IcyHot like it’s food to be consumed. Something about blisters or bunions or whatever. He misses the days when he didn’t have to sew a new pair of shoes every few days or worry about spacers or toe pads.

“How many times have we rehearsed the balcony scene?” Grantaire asks when he steps into the center of the studio. Enjolras, looping a casual arm around his waist, merely shrugs.

Fantine interrupts them and says, “Not enough. We still need to see the romance in this.”

Everyone else in the production stands around at the barre, some warming up, some spectating, and Courfeyrac, holding up his phone like he’s filming them. Fantine says, “Shall we start from where you run on, Enjolras?”

It’s been a month, and Grantaire is still in awe of Enjolras’s solo variation and all the impressive leaps in the choreography. He supposes that that’s the whole point, for him to be impressed, but it takes literally nothing for him to be impressed by Enjolras. Grantaire joins Enjolras and lets himself fall into his arms, trusting that he’ll be supported.

“Pause, pause for a moment. R, it’s like a swoon. We don’t want to lose you around the back of him. You have to see _him_ , and that’s what makes you swoon.”

Grantaire swoons just about every time he sees Enjolras, so that should definitely not be a problem. The room holds a collective breath as he leans forward against Enjolras’s kneeling form and curls his arms around his neck, feeling those warm hands on his waist all the way. It’s a ridiculously romantic pose, staring down into Enjolras’s eyes while he stares up into his, and it will never fail to make Grantaire blush.

“Keep your arms up, R,” Fantine reminds him, and he nods, still very much focused on his arabesque. Playing the part of being in love with Enjolras is easy because Grantaire hasn’t been faking his emotions at all. The rest of the scene is easy in terms of technique, so he loses himself in his memories instead. Enjolras arguing, Enjolras laughing, Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras. Sitting in his arms, one leg extended forward, and caressing his head comes almost naturally.

All the motions are muscle memory by now, and Grantaire zones back in right when Enjolras goes in for the kiss. He forgets that it’s supposed to be staged, so if he melts into it and presses in close like it’s his last kiss with Enjolras ever, he cannot be blamed. Grantaire opens his eyes again, and flushes bright red when they separate with a smacking sound that seems to echo in the room full of quiet dancers. Enjolras stares at him like there’s something on his face, and he tries to look down, only for his partner to tilt his chin back up with a gentle finger and kiss his forehead.

Courfeyrac is, of course, the first to start cheering and applauding, putting down his phone. Grantaire cries out, “Have you been _filming_ the entire time?”

“Filming? No! We’re live on Instagram, obviously. Seriously, R. Who do you take me for?”

Fantine continues to work with Enjolras while Courfeyrac angles the phone until Grantaire is in frame and tells his followers, “And this, my dear friends, is our lovely R. Follow him too and tag him in all your videos of him and Enjolras kissing please.”

“What? Oh no,” Grantaire moans and buries his face in his hands. He tells the phone, “Thanks for your support, though.”

On the screen, he looks at the frequent comments of _“Drop your skincare routine please :D”_ and _“Is he single?”_ and sighs, “I use water, and yes, I’m single and bisexual, but I’m not really looking for anyone right now.”

Courfeyrac leaves to rehearse another scene with Enjolras and Combeferre, leaving Grantaire to fend for himself. Slowly, more and more comments about how blue Grantaire’s eyes are or how much they love his voice trickle in. It makes him feel a little weird, like he isn’t deserving of all these compliments, but he smiles and thanks them all in accented English. He checks his own phone, sees all of those new notifications and ducks his head, thoroughly humbled.

One user asks, _“How does it feel to kiss Enjolras?”_ and Grantaire feels his cheeks glow brighter. He answers, in a stuttering voice, “N-nice, I guess? It’s just a stage kiss…”

Immediately, the chat is flooded with, _“A stage kiss??? THAT WAS NOT A STAGE KISS, MONSIEUR!!!”_ as well as plenty more comments about how pretty and cute he is when he’s embarrassed. He replies, “Yeah, that’s all. We’re just partners.”

Grantaire knows fully well that that’s what Enjolras had told the lady in the park when they were on their little hot chocolate not-date. He desperately wants it to be considered a date. He also knows that when he checks his Instagram again, there will be edits and even more GIFs of his terribly smitten face with the phrase, “We’re just partners,” plastered all over it in sparkles. Oh, how he wishes he could control his facial expressions as well as, say, Combeferre. Instead, he’s stuck with a mug that betrays literally every single one of his thoughts.

It’s truly a wonder that Enjolras hasn’t picked up on how desperate Grantaire has become for his attention. He knows he is being quite pathetic, but he’s addicted to the way Enjolras smiles at him. Before _Romeo and Juliet_ rehearsals started, Grantaire would barely interact with him. It was usually one glance here and a brief moment of eye contact there, or they would find themselves wrapped up in an argument about something stupid.

“Prance, Enjolras. Prance! You too, Combeferre. Courfeyrac, you’re doing great.”

Grantaire snaps his head back up at the sound of Fantine’s voice and grins so wide that his cheeks hurt. On Courfeyrac’s phone, he quickly switches the camera, so it captures the wonder that is Enjolras looking exasperated. Grantaire has to suppress a laugh that threatens to burst out.

“Yeah, Enjolras! What Fantine said,” he crows instead, and Enjolras directs his deadpan at him. It’s all he can take not to curl up on the floor, giggling.

“Thank you, Grantaire. Romeo is a light-hearted character at first. I feel like I’ve said this at least a million times, but it’s the storytelling that matters more. He’s with his friends, and you’re with your friends, so why am I not feeling any happier?” Fantine continues, and Enjolras begrudgingly heeds her orders. Grantaire covers his mouth with his hands to stop himself from laughing at the absolute hilarity that is Enjolras practically skipping around the room in sync with Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

To say the least, Grantaire does not succeed, and the world falls in love with him all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Montparnasse is the dickest of dicks in this. I apologize to anyone who genuinely likes him, but I needed an asshole character. The whole world simps for R. Also, I added "mutual simping" because [mandilorian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandilorian/pseuds/mandilorian) commented about it.


	5. Juliet Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire works hard for things he genuinely enjoys, and dancing with Enjolras is one such thing. He works a little too hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: fainting, exhaustion, temporary illness.

It’s a given that after so many successes, the Paris Opera Ballet would reach a pitfall. Joly watches in concern as Grantaire’s steps become a little more labored than mischievous Juliet’s should, as he falls a little too far into Enjolras’s arms, and as he sinks to the ground and takes breaths that seem too strained for the amount of dancing he’s done so far. Granted, it _is_ the end of the day, and everyone has been known to become more than a little tired, but Grantaire had just started rehearsing his more technical scenes with Enjolras. The rest of it had been spent playfully running away from Montparnasse, who tries to kiss his hands and Joly, who tries to get him to listen to him.

When Enjolras begins to frown, and a pinch appears between his brows, Joly knows that Grantaire is down with something. He hears Enjolras ask, “R, are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course! Why do you ask?”

“You just coughed earlier, and you sound winded. I’ve only lifted you once so far.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry. Let’s go over that scene again,” Grantaire huffs, but his statement is punctuated by a hacking cough. This is definitely not ideal.

With Fantine’s approval, Joly walks over to the center of the studio and asks, “Please, R. Can we just go home?”

“No! I have to get this right,” Grantaire replies before glancing over at Enjolras with a pleading expression. Joly knows a losing battle when he sees it, especially because even righteous Enjolras is weak in the presence of Grantaire’s kitten eyes.

Enjolras caves predictably and holds onto Grantaire’s waist a little tighter and lifts him right before the exhaustion predictably catches up. Joly can only watch in shock and dismay as his friend’s eyes roll back, and he falls limp into Enjolras’s waiting arms.

“Oh my God. Oh my God, R, what,” Enjolras mutters frantically, sitting down with his partner lying across his lap, and Joly thanks all the deities above for his reflexes. Grantaire’s face is shades paler than what could possibly be considered healthy, so it’s likely that he’s just been working himself harder than usual.

Joly waves off Fantine’s offer to call an ambulance and immediately starts bundling Grantaire up in his sweater. Enjolras quickly snaps out of whatever trance he was in and deftly begins unlacing his pointe shoes before slipping his clammy feet into loafers.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him,” Joly reassures Fantine. “You’ll help, won’t you, Enj?”

Making sure to stare meaningfully into Enjolras’s eyes, he is very much relieved to see him readily agree. Joly will always marvel at the way Enjolras seems to easily hoist Grantaire into his arms and how Grantaire unconsciously shifts closer to the source of warmth. Together, they take a taxi to the Joly and Grantaire’s shared apartment, and Enjolras hands Grantaire off to Bossuet, who thanks him profusely.

“Please tell Fantine that we will take at least a few days off. If R’s not better by then, will you stop by too sometime to check up on him?” Joly asks.

Enjolras stares into the apartment, obviously looking for Grantaire. He snaps out of it and replies, “Of course. Good night.”

* * *

“Why didn’t he take better care of himself? It’s not like I can just make an understudy appear out of thin air.”

Enjolras interrupts Fantine firmly, “That’s out of the question. R and I work well together, so nobody should replace him. We have the entire ballet memorized like the back of our hands, so a few days away won’t do any major damage.”

Fantine studies Enjolras curiously, as if contemplating something. Enjolras holds her gaze, unwilling to back down. He continues, “There are plenty of other scenes without him in it, so if it’s wasted time that you’re worried about, I can assure you that there’s no need for that concern.”

“Well, Enjolras, I hope you won’t make me regret my decision,” Fantine says.

“You won’t,” Enjolras promises. He makes good on his word.

Saturday afternoon, he knocks on Grantaire’s apartment bearing large bundles of gifts from their friends and some soup that Combeferre helped him make. Enjolras, being an absolute terror in the kitchen, was strictly forbidden to make it himself.

Joly wrenches open the door, greets Enjolras in a harried voice, and says, “You’re here. Good. I’m going out to get some fresh air with Boss and ‘Chetta. Make sure R doesn’t die. Actually, wake him up and feed him, please.”

It’s easy to locate Grantaire’s room. The door is painted with green flourishes, and Enjolras, with Joly’s permission, opens it gently in case he’s still sleeping. In the corner, there are boxes upon boxes of dead pointe shoes, all lovingly used. He takes in all the sketches tacked to the wall and wonders just how much about Grantaire he doesn’t know. Sure, ballet is their job and definitely much more, but Enjolras has no idea what other talents Grantaire must possess.

Pressed up in the corner of the room is a twin bed, clothed in forest green sheets, and Grantaire is clearly bundled up in it if the human-sized lump is anything to go by. Enjolras kneels next to him, simply admiring his sleeping face for a moment. He isn’t quite sure if this could be considered weird or stalkerish, but Grantaire’s face, even relaxed in sleep, is a sight to behold. Thick black curls fall sweetly over his forehead, and eyelashes equally as thick and dark cast shadows over his cheeks. His lips, full and pink, are downturned at the corners, and Enjolras wants to bite at them. Where those thoughts come from, he has no idea.

“Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty,” Enjolras says quietly, gently rubbing his shoulder through the soft blanket. Grantaire whimpers and sniffles before blearily cracking open those gorgeous blue eyes of his.

“‘M dreaming right?” Grantaire mumbles, voice distorted from where his cheek is pressed into his pillow. “Enj, is tha’ you?”

Enjolras looks at his heavy-lidded eyes and reaches out to brush back some hair from his forehead. He murmurs, “Yeah. How are you?”

“Cold an’ sleepy,'' Grantaire replies before burrowing further into his blankets until it’s tucked up to his nose. Enjolras desperately wants to hug him close and never let go.

“Do you want to eat something?” he asks, opening up the thermos and letting the aroma waft through the air. It’s obvious that Grantaire can’t smell it through his congested nose, but he opens his eyes enough to look at Enjolras. Enjolras quickly helps him prop himself up against the pillow.

“Oh. This isn’t a dream. You’re actually here.”

Enjolras gives him a smile before fishing out a spoon from his bag. He asks, “Are you good, or do I need to feed you?”

“I don’t know. Is this soup even edible?” Grantaire asks teasingly, and Enjolras almost falls over in relief. It’s nice to know that even while sick, Grantaire’s snarky personality has not disappeared.

“Y’know what, if you’re gonna give me this sass, I’ll just feed you. I’m not about to poison you,” Enjolras says. “Open wide.”

Grantaire glares at him to the best of his ability, but does as he’s ordered. To be honest, the glare is more like a little furrow of eyebrows and glazed blue eyes, so Enjolras continues giving him the soup.

“I’m full,” Grantaire says before sneezing. Even his sneeze is adorable, a tiny squeak of a sound.

Enjolras drops both the thermos and the spoon back into the bag before helping him lie back down. Grantaire gives him a smile and wonders aloud, “Should you even be here? I don’t wanna get you sick too.”

“‘Ferre says I have a strong immune system or whatever. I guess we’ll just have to see if he’s right or not.”

“Okay. Don’t blame me if you get sick though,” Grantaire says before rolling over until he’s facing the wall. Enjolras gets up to leave, but is stopped by his name being quietly called out.

“Will you stay? Please?”

That’s all it takes for Enjolras to sit down on the floor next to the bed and pull out his phone to text Courfeyrac that he’s going to be busy watching Grantaire sleep. He just barely presses send before his name is called again.

“I’m demanding cuddles,” Grantaire announces, turning back around and peering at him over the edge of the bed.

“Uh, how?” Enjolras asks, glancing at the bed and back at Grantaire.

“Squish.”

Enjolras considers it for a millisecond before taking off his jacket and socks. Grantaire scoots until he’s basically pressed flush against the wall, and Enjolras gets in with him under the fuzzy blanket. He barely fits and has to curl his legs in around Grantaire’s. It’s very squished, indeed.

Grantaire doesn’t seem to mind, snuggling in close. They’re pressed together from head to toe, and Enjolras slings a casual arm around his waist. Grantaire’s whole body is warm, and his cheeks are flushed due to a fever. Enjolras makes a mental note to let Joly know, and hopefully on Monday, they’ll be back to rehearsal.

At the sound of soft snoring, he looks down just to see Grantaire has passed out again. He’s using Enjolras’s chest as a pillow, one hand over his heart, and he just looks more at peace than Enjolras has ever seen him. Unable to resist, he wraps both arms around him, effectively caging him in, and kisses his hairline. Grantaire hums contentedly, and Enjolras falls asleep too.

* * *

Grantaire wakes up to the sun shining brightly in his face, so he has to squint to look at the clock. His eyes fly wide when he sees that it’s nearly noon, and he nearly panics when a solid arm snags him by the waist and pulls him back down. He flops down on the soft mattress next to a warm and very familiar body. Then he vaguely recalls the last few days and takes a deep breath because it’s Sunday.

“Good morning, Enjolras.”

Grantaire decides right then and there that he will wake up to Enjolras’s smile every day, or he won’t wake up at all.

“How are you feeling?” Enjolras asks, pressing the back of his hand against Grantaire’s forehead.

“If I’m being totally honest, like, really disgusting. I need a shower. But I think my fever broke last night.”

“That’s good. Maybe my presence was all you needed,” Enjolras replies, grinning.

Grantaire snorts and bats his hand away from where it tries to pat his head. He swings his legs out of bed, stretches luxuriously, and pads into his bathroom. It suddenly occurs to him that he literally did all of that in front of Enjolras while wearing nothing but one of Bossuet’s old T-shirts that is so big it slides off one shoulder and hangs down to mid-thigh, and a pair of green boxer-briefs. He tries to calm his beating heart down and force the heat away from his face.

The hot water strips away the grime accumulated from all the days spent in bed, and Grantaire feels his whole being relax under the spray. He dutifully slathers himself in body wash, filling his cleared nostrils with a light floral fragrance. At last, he no longer feels exhausted and gross.

That’s when Grantaire finds out that he made a horrible mistake. Sighing in resignation, he steps back out with his towel tied tightly around his waist and sheepishly tells Enjolras, “I forgot to bring clothes in with me.”

Enjolras is still in the same shirt and sweatpants he wore the day before, and he’s studying the collection of sketches tacked up on the wall. Grantaire feels a little self-conscious because he knows they’re not the best, and a fair amount of them are of Enjolras. Actually, they’re all of the ballet performances he goes to watch: Enjolras and Éponine as Des Grieux and Manon in _Manon_ , Bahorel, Feuilly, and Jehan as the sailors from _Fancy Free_ , Joly in _Don Quixote_ before he fucked his knee up and was forced to play less strenuous roles, and many more of Enjolras as a variety of princes he’s been cast as.

Grantaire stands there, hair dripping water onto his floor, and waits for a reaction. He probably should go put on some clothes, but he’s more curious to see what Enjolras thinks.

“Why don’t you have any of yourself?” Enjolras asks at last. Grantaire is taken aback.

“M-me?” he stutters, having expected literally anything else to come from Enjolras’s mouth.

“Unless you see someone else in the room, then yes, you,” Enjolras says, rolling his eyes in exasperation. He turns back to the wall and continues, “You capture movement very well.”

“Well, I go to watch the shows and kinda sketch based on my memory? I don’t exactly like watching myself, even in the mirror during rehearsal, which I probably should, but y’know. I’d probably just chicken out and mess up if I did.”

“I enjoy watching you, if that means anything. But another thing: why me? I would find this weird, but it’s sort of flattering?” Enjolras remarks before turning around to look at Grantaire. He does the only thing he can when faced with such a tough question. He blushes.

“W-well, you’re a principal dancer, so I think that answers your question. _And you’re kinda really hot_ ,” Grantaire replies, muffling that last part with his hands.

Enjolras smirks, “Ooh, so you think I’m attractive?”

Grantaire has no idea how he heard that, so he’s justified in pouting petulantly and mumbling, “I would have to be blind not to see it. You have-” he gestures vaguely toward Enjolras’s torso, “- _abs_.”

“Um… you have them too? And so do Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Joly, and probably Bossuet too. And Bahorel, Feuilly, Jehan, and Éponine…” Enjolras trails off, probably finally noticing his partner’s lack of clothing. Grantaire’s face feels like it’s on fire as he digs through his closet for his favorite knitted sweater and some black leggings.

“Er, feel free to use the bathroom. There’s shampoo and conditioner and stuff and extra towels under the sink,” Grantaire says, gracelessly turning the conversation around. Enjolras’s mouth twitches into a smile, and he strides into the bathroom.

Grantaire sits on his bed, contemplating all his life decisions up to this point as the water runs in his bathroom. He decidedly does _not_ think about the fact that Enjolras is naked, and there is literally one door between them. This is not good for his heart. He already exposed himself as finding Enjolras physically attractive, and while that is definitely true, he knows that being aesthetically pleasing is only one of the reasons why he’s in love.

Enjolras comes out wearing the same clothes, but his hair is damp, and Grantaire really wants to run his fingers through those blond locks. It’s honestly a pity that he is deprived of the opportunity to marvel shamelessly at all that golden skin, but it’s okay.

When Grantaire pokes his head out into the hallway, Joly screams, “YOU’RE FREE AT LAST, MY DEAR!” and proceeds to squeeze the shit out of him. “No more sickness holding my lovely Juliet hostage.”

Enjolras bursts out laughing, and Grantaire shoots him a betrayed look before Joly finally lets him go and gives them both a shit-eating grin, singing, “I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, Monsieur. I took quite a few pictures of you both cuddled up to each other when I checked on R this morning~”

Grantaire turns a horrified expression on who was supposed to be his best friend and pleads, “No, please tell me you’re just joking.”

“If I were, it would be absolutely pointe-less, haha, to even mention it. Don’t worry, I deleted them,” Joly says, and Grantaire breathes a sigh of relief. “But not before sending them to the group chat, of course.”

“My life is over,” Grantaire moans. Enjolras pats his back awkwardly. He shoots him a grateful smile and reaches up to kiss his cheek.

“See, you’re not even _together_ -together, but he gets kisses! R, where are my kisses?” Joly pouts, and Grantaire dutifully presses his lips to his cheek, ignoring the jab at his relationship with Enjolras.

After shoving some granola into his mouth, Grantaire announces, “I’m going to practice a little at the studio because hell knows, I gotta get off my ass after it’s been resting in bed for however long it’s been. Enj, wanna come with?”

Enjolras hums around a mouthful of bread and replies, “Sure. Can we stop by my place first for a sec?”

Grantaire should learn not to be surprised when Courfeyrac squeals in his face. Or when he waves his phone around in his face. With his face on it. Grantaire sighs.

“Look how cute you two are!” Courfeyrac says, pulling them into the apartment. Enjolras manages to escape his hold and speed-walk to his room, but Grantaire is trapped. He gets pushed onto the worn faux leather couch, and Courfeyrac shows him picture after picture of himself, barely visible from where the blanket is pulled up over his chin. In every single one, Enjolras’s hand is caressing his hair, and Grantaire fights the urge to pat his own head.

“I can’t believe you either. Fainting straight into Enj’s arms like that. You literally went, ‘C _atch me, handsome!_ ’” Courfeyrac laughs, squeezing Grantaire tightly. Between him and Joly hugging him so thoroughly that his ribs creak, Grantaire thinks he wants to burrow back under his comfortable blankets and stay there until this is all over.

Finally, Enjolras re-emerges from his room, tugging a fresh T-shirt down over those glorious abs. Grantaire sends him a panicked, “Help me!” face, and Enjolras winks at him over Courfeyrac’s shoulder. That should also be illegal.

“Alright, Courf. We’re leaving now. Bye!” Enjolras says. Grantaire yelps at the feeling of a pair of hands on his waist and finds himself floating up and over the back of the couch. He laughs at the absurdity of Enjolras literally plucking him off of the couch and out of Courfeyrac’s claws. Courfeyrac’s indignant squawk is totally worth it.

  
Grantaire hooks his phone up to the speaker system, and they do warm-ups to the recorded piano. Finally, he allows the dramatic orchestral music of their ballet to fill the room. He grasps Enjolras’s proffered arm and gets lifted across those broad shoulders once again, thinking to himself, _It’s good to be back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I just needed an excuse to do a little hurt/comfort. Also, yes, it is totally physically possible for Enjolras to carry Grantaire the way he does. This fic is really just "How many tropes and clichés can I fit in one story?" Remember to tip your writers with kudos because it makes us feel happier.


	6. Again in Juliet’s Bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire are oblivious idiots, and Fantine is struggling. She's struggling, man.

Enjolras can feel Grantaire’s curious gaze on him from across the room. Fantine is giving him whispered directions, and normally he would not be supportive of hiding such important matters from his partner, but he has a gut feeling that Grantaire being left in the dark is necessary for this to all pan out.

“You’re aware of what you signed up for right?” Fantine asks, and Enjolras nods. “Good. _Romeo and Juliet_ is different from the ballets you’ve done in the past because MacMillan wanted the romance to be raw. I’m sure that you’re plenty aware that he purposefully deviated from the traditions set by the French royal court.”

“Yes, but I’m still not sure where you’re going with this?”

Fantine laughs before explaining, “Well, instead of loving caresses, I want you to kiss Grantaire in the bedroom pas de deux. Passionately. Multiple times if it so pleases you. It’s not in MacMillan’s choreo, but I think it’ll really sell the gay aspect of this show.”

Enjolras feels his face heat, but agrees, “I can… do that. Are you going to let him know?”

Fantine shrugs and says, “I would rather you take him by surprise for the effect.”

“So what you’re telling me is that he’s not consenting to this? That I’m supposed to just lay one on him without his permission?” Enjolras asks, frowning. “That’s just not right.”

“Then go ahead and let him know. But if you think he won’t allow you to kiss him, you must be blind, oblivious, or both, Enjolras.”

Enjolras has no idea if she’s still talking about the show anymore, so he excuses himself to talk to his partner. Grantaire gives him a questioning little smile, blue eyes wide in curiosity. Enjolras tries not to be a hypocrite and kiss him right then and there.

“Kissing,” he says instead.

“Kissing?” Grantaire asks, looking bewildered.

“Kissing. Fantine wants us to do more of it in the bedroom scene.”

Enjolras is fascinated by the blush that spreads across Grantaire’s cheeks. Quite frankly, it’s a lovely sight.

“Oh, okay. Um, do we need to practice that too?” Grantaire asks, but Enjolras shakes his head.

“I actually have no idea. I would assume Fantine would want us to rehearse it for _the character_ and _the emotions_ ,” he says, imitating their director’s voice, “but she also said to make the kissing random.”

“Oh, God. I don’t know if I can handle you just kissing me at any point,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras feels triumphant. “I might pass out from the shock, and then you’ll have to literally carry the rest of it.”

Grantaire is grinning broadly, and Enjolras sighs, “I feel like I should’ve seen that one coming.”

“Yeah, I’m a little disappointed in you. But definitely go for it if it makes this production all the better. Should I narrate them too? _And in one fell swoop, Enjolras kisses me passionately, but I, playing the part of young Juliet, have to pull away-_ AHH!”

Enjolras, fondly annoyed at Grantaire’s antics, lunges forward and tickles his sides mercilessly. Grantaire giggles until tears start streaming from his eyes and exclaims, “Stop! Stop!”

“Then stop being a little shit,” Enjolras says, a smile spreading across his face. Their position is more than a little compromising with him in between Grantaire’s legs. Grantaire’s cheeks are delightfully flushed, and he’s breathing quickly and begging for Enjolras to stop as he raises his hands again.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be good. Just please! Show some mercy,” Grantaire pleads, pouting and giving Enjolras a wide-eyed stare. Enjolras, so, _so_ weak for that expression, pulls them both upright again and definitely does not think about Grantaire being a good boy. At all. Grantaire glares at him, brushes himself off, and starts doing grand battements to the pianist’s rhythm.

Enjolras reaches over to grab the barre and does the same to warm up. Grantaire’s grand battements are truly a sight to behold, which doesn’t really say much since all of his motions are graceful and elegant, but the ease and flexibility he executes them with hold Enjolras’s attention more than they should.

* * *

“Where is the passion? The emotion? All I see is a generic dance between two people who aren’t even lovers,” Fantine comments. “I need to see the love and the pain on your faces, _the yearning_.”

_Juliet is such a fickle character_ , Grantaire thinks. She’s in love with Romeo but shoves him away when he tries to get close in the bedroom pas de deux. If Grantaire had a choice, he’d just tell his parents to fuck off and run away with Enjolras. However, there are parts that he does understand, like hiding under the covers to avoid doing something. Éponine and Feuilly play the roles of his parents a little too well, but Feuilly always apologizes and asks if he’s okay when he gets shoved to the floor.

Grantaire pauses in the middle of leaning back into Enjolras’s embrace while Fantine continues, “R, be a little more sad. Like, look at the ground to express that. Enj, hold onto him like you don’t want to let go.”

Enjolras’s grip instinctively tightens on Grantaire’s waist in response to Fantine’s words. Grantaire puts on a more grief-stricken expression. He lets himself dance a little more freely, going with the momentum from the turns and lifts. Grantaire throws himself into Enjolras’s arms, and he gets caught by the forearms and lifted high above Enjolras’s head. He falls back into the bridal hold it transitions into, feeling the air whoosh out of his lungs. When he pushes Enjolras away and executes a tour jeté, he feels like he’s floating on air.

Every time Grantaire runs away a little, he turns around, and Enjolras is right there, ready to catch him again. Enjolras’s hand burns where he lifts him by his inner thigh. In terms of technique, it’s perfect. They know each other so well by now that Grantaire can tell exactly what to do when just by the cadence of Enjolras’s breathing. He gets pulled into a spin and dipped low with a flourish.

“Okay, stop right there. Clearly, I need to say this to compel you two to be more convincing: make love. Yeah, I said it. This pas de deux is supposed to be the very definition of passion, and if you can’t sell it to even the most traditional of ballet patrons, this whole thing would be useless. Make it seem even more homoerotic,” Fantine urges. Grantaire feels like his face is on fire, more so at the thought of having sex with Enjolras than the fact that Fantine is telling him to.

Grantaire, quickly getting over the embarrassment, lets go of everything holding him back. Enjolras does the same, lifting him a little higher, caressing his face a little gentler. Grantaire leans into his embrace a little further, mourning the moments when he isn’t ensnared in his partner’s arms. When the choreography calls for it, he clutches Enjolras’s shoulders like he’s about to leave him and sinks to the floor slowly. He lets himself be dragged across the floor and pretends to swoon against Enjolras. It is horribly romantic with the way Enjolras runs his hands down Grantaire’s torso.

Grantaire had effectively forgotten that Fantine intended for them to kiss multiple times, so when he looks at Enjolras, about to fall into his arms, he is more than a little surprised that Enjolras takes hold of his head and brings their lips together chastely. Reminding himself not to get too into it, Grantaire pulls himself away from Enjolras completely. The bedroom pas de deux feels more like he’s giving up on all hope of being with the man he loves whereas the balcony one is pumped full of youthful excitement.

In the span of one run-through, Enjolras kisses Grantaire twice, not counting the one at the end. As it was in the original choreography, Grantaire reaches up to pepper fluttering kisses all over Enjolras’s face until he’s stopped by Enjolras grabbing his shoulders and shaking them. He knows that this next kiss is planned and looks up just in time for a soft peck to land on his lips.

“What was that?!” Fantine yells. “This is the last time you see each other! Kiss him like your life depends on it! Because it does, ahem.”

“Alright. Where would you like us to start?” Enjolras asks, saving Grantaire from melting in embarrassment.

“When R collapses to the ground.”

This time, Grantaire bites his knuckles as Enjolras caresses his hair softly. The kiss, when it comes, is like nothing he had expected. It’s firm and bruising, and he winds his arms around Enjolras’s neck to play up the theatrical aspect.

“Whew, okay, at least you have it in you,” Fantine stops them before Enjolras can let go of Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire thinks he’s going to faint.

* * *

Fantine breathes a sigh of relief. At least those two foolish boys have come a long way since biting each others’ heads off. Enjolras has a great capacity to care, and Grantaire has a great capacity to love. They’re simply blind to the affections of the other, so Fantine has had to shove them in the right direction more than a few times.

She has seen the way Grantaire automatically relaxes into Enjolras’s embrace and the way Enjolras immediately smiles when Grantaire enters the room. Not to mention all the disasters that the Paris Opera Ballet’s studio has witnessed thus far rehearsing _Romeo and Juliet_. The disasters being that episode with Montparnasse that almost made Fantine regret her decision, and Grantaire falling into Enjolras’s arms, literally unconscious.

The only thing Fantine really wishes would be for her principal dancers to finally get together, so the show would be taken to the next level. Or at least, that’s what she thinks she wishes for. Grantaire deserves every good thing in life, and he seems happiest when Enjolras is present.

“Oi, Javert, how’s the set coming along?” Fantine asks once she arrives at the theatre.

Javert greets her a little stiffly, but replies, “Everything’s fine, thanks to Valjean and Cosette.”

Fantine smiles at the mention of her daughter. Cosette was the reason that she left the company because caring for her took up all her time, and her body was never the same again. However, she returned as a choreographer and somewhat of an artistic director to help the Paris Opera Ballet improve. It’s just an added bonus that Javert wanted Cosette to be his assistant stage manager after she graduated with a degree in tech theatre, although Fantine has a sneaking suspicion that Valjean had a role in persuading the stoic man.

The set is rather simple for the most part, a solid wooden structure to serve as the balcony and a “stone” bed that transforms into the one in Juliet’s bedroom. Cosette bounds out of the booth and remarks, “R sure will look very pretty all laid out on that bed.”

Fantine snorts and says, “Okay, ‘Sette. I’m certain Enjolras will definitely agree with you there.”

Cosette’s eyes gleam when she asks, “Oh? Is there something going on between them?”

“Not yet, but there will be once this whole thing’s over. In fact, I’m pretty sure that everyone in the company knows that they’re in love _except for them_.”

Cosette sighs and shakes her head, “Well, Mother, for all our sakes, let’s just hope we don’t end up having to physically shove their sorry asses together.”

Fantine nods in agreement and looks over to the middle of the house, where Bossuet is checking all the cameras and microphones. He’s concentrated on a large tangle of wires and nearly falls over one when he stands up. There are cameras all over the theatre, some hanging over the pit to get shots of the orchestra, but most are installed in the roof for panning.

She walks backstage to where Valjean is organizing and labeling props. There’s a bucket of prop swords in the wings with tags on the handles for Enjolras, Bahorel, and Courfeyrac. A few mandolins lie on a table, polished until the wood shines. Musichetta is ironing costumes like her life depends on it, yards upon yards of colorful fabric. Everything should be fine for tomorrow’s dress rehearsal and their thirteen planned performances.

  
 _Yes_ , Fantine thinks to herself, _this should be good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fantine's POV??? I hope it didn't seem to forced or anything. Always ask for consent before kissing... even if they're fake. This is just another friendly reminder that kudos and comments are my lifeblood. Love you all!


	7. The Street Awakens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Romeo and Juliet_ opens, and emotions run high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: stage anxiety, fake character death (it's _Romeo and Juliet_ after all).

There is a whole audience out there.

Unsurprisingly, tickets sell out almost as quickly as they could release them. Grantaire would be shocked that so many people would pay to come see him and the rest of the company dance, but with their social media presence and the population of Paris, it doesn’t come as a surprise to him at all. Speaking of social media, his Instagram feed is quickly blowing up with pictures of fans with their programs tagging both him and the production under #thebiggayshakespeareballet. 

Most of them, being from other parts of the world, are talking about the livestream performance. Another genius idea of Enjolras’s, the stream will serve to collect donations to support the arts and to bring their production to those who don’t have access. Bossuet is set up to take a full-length shot of the entire ballet tonight, which adds a little to the stress, but Grantaire can handle it.

He scrolls through Instagram in his dressing room while Enjolras, a heathen who doesn’t use social media, looks over his shoulder at upwards of a couple thousand posts. They’re both in costume already, but Grantaire has yet to rosin and bang the noise out of his pointe shoes. Courfeyrac is clearly busy sharing them all on his story with some very enthusiastic emojis and GIFs. There are even a few pictures of their balcony shoot from a while ago being reposted, and many are ones of the first kiss.

Grantaire blushes.

“They seem to really be digging the whole ‘gay’ aspect of this,” he mutters.

Enjolras hums and replies, “I guess. It’s nice to know that this has a generally positive outcome. Representation is important, especially in the ballet world, and we’re just making it better one step at a time.”

“You mean that you’re making it better.”

“No, R. _We are_ ,” Enjolras emphasizes, looking into his eyes. Grantaire averts his eyes, unable to handle looking right into Enjolras’s piercing stare, but Enjolras tilts his chin back up to study his face.

“I’m feeling a bit like a mouse under a magnifying glass,” Grantaire says after an awkward minute of eye contact. “Does my face look weird or something?”

Enjolras lets him go and answers, “Quite the opposite, actually. I don’t think you’ll even need any stage makeup.”

This has Grantaire all sorts of flustered. If anyone, it’s Enjolras who has no need for it, defined cheekbones and jawline and all. His golden hair is perfect too, slicked back with gel.

“That’s because you’ll be right next to me the entire time. I still need to get it all on my face, so either stay here or get out, darling,” Grantaire ends up saying before grabbing his makeup bag and pulling out a variety of tubes and brushes. He begins applying primer and foundation before carefully concealing the faint shadows under his eyes. It all happens by instinct now, and he sends a prayer up to the skincare gods for blessing him with nice skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he observes as Enjolras does the same, darkening his eyebrows and making funny expressions at himself in the mirror. 

Usually, a makeup crew would be doing this for them, but Grantaire had mentioned to Fantine that he would rather do his own because he can. Besides, he would be deprived of the opportunity to witness the extreme awkwardness that is Enjolras putting on stage makeup. Sure, he isn’t _horrible_ at it like Bahorel is, but Grantaire really wants to snatch the eyeliner out of his hand to do it himself.

He applies his own eyeliner and mascara like a pro and dabs on tinted lip balm. Silently, Grantaire slides a mint over to Enjolras before popping one into his own mouth. All this just to kiss Enjolras. He’d better be grateful.

At the stairwell, Grantaire puts on earmuffs and says, “Ah, you might wanna cover your ears.”

Thankfully, Enjolras doesn’t question it, and watches in alarm as Grantaire starts whacking his shoes against the stairs. When he finally bends down to take off his warm-up booties and slide them on, Enjolras exhales loudly.

“Wow, okay. That explains the noise from dress rehearsal.”

“Yeah, uh, the orchestra can only cover so much sound. It doesn’t help that I’m heavier than a ballerina either, so I’ve gotta be light on my feet as much as possible. I don’t do this for, like, everyday rehearsals at the studio, or they’ll die faster,” Grantaire explains, finishing up the knot on one shoe before moving on to the next. Enjolras listens to him like he’s actually fascinated by this, which does not come as a surprise to him. At all.

“This can’t be efficient at all,” he comments. “I’ve seen all those boxes in your room… if only a dancewear company could somehow make them last longer.”

“There are a few brands that try. They have different colors too, for different skin tones, but they’re just not comfortable for me. Uh, before you get all fired up about that, let’s first get through one thing at a time,” Grantaire quickly adds, giving Enjolras a concerned glance.

The intense expression on Enjolras’s face immediately starts to soften, and he holds out an arm for Grantaire to balance against as he does a few arabesques and turns en pointe. Grantaire groans when his muscles are stretched out as he lifts a leg straight up. It’s not until they’re halfway through a lift that he feels Enjolras suddenly tense. Concerned, he gives the arm holding him up a pat and turns around when he’s set down.

“Hey, are you okay?” Grantaire asks gently, but he falters upon seeing the stony expression on his partner’s face.

“Sorry, what?” Enjolras says after shaking his head, clearing away his stare. “Oh, I was just thinking.”

“About what, if I may ask?”  
  


Enjolras waves his arms around impatiently, “About everything! About the show, about what happens after, about you, about me, about the world. I feel like all these thoughts are crowding my brain. I can’t remember a single step, R! _Help me_.”

There’s a wild look in his eyes, but Grantaire pushes his shock at this display of vulnerability down. That won’t do anything to help them, now or ever. Instead, he curls his arms around Enjolras’s torso, minding his makeup. Enjolras exhales shakily, but he dutifully leans down and rests his chin on Grantaire’s shoulder. They breathe in tandem for a few moments, and Grantaire tightens his grasp on Enjolras’s doublet with one hand, running the other up and down the broad expanse of his back. His face flushes when he remembers their costume fittings and how they hugged just like they are right now.

When Enjolras pulls away, Grantaire smiles tentatively up at him. He has no idea what Enjolras is going to say. Enjolras simply looks at him with a serene expression on his face. He reaches out to push back a lock of Grantaire’s hair that had fallen onto his forehead as he holds his breath, resolutely maintaining eye contact.

“I- thank you, R. For snapping me out of it,” Enjolras sighs. “Without you, I’d be so lost… okay maybe not _lost-_ lost since I have Courf and ‘Ferre, but I mean it. I’m going to miss this when it’s over.”

And, _oh_ , Grantaire’s trying not to burst into tears right then and there. He croaks, “You’re not allowed to be thinking about this being over before it’s even started yet, dummy.”

Enjolras laughs softly and replies, “You’re right, of course.”

“Whoa. Did he just admit that I’m right? Holy shit, this needs to be documented. Where’s Courfeyrac when you need him?”

“Not here to intrude on this moment,” Enjolras quips.

“Wow, harsh. So this is a moment now?” Grantaire asks, half jokingly and half out of curiosity.

“It is if you want it to be,” Enjolras replies, and Grantaire has no idea what to say to that. “I…”

Grantaire tilts his head and asks, “You?”

“Never mind,” Enjolras says, shaking his head and squeezing Grantaire’s hand. “I’ll tell you afterwards. If we even survive. As ourselves, I mean. Our characters die, obviously.”

“Okay…? Anyway, we got this in the bag,” Grantaire reassures him, squeezing back. “I’m fairly certain we can do this in our sleep. Oh, and break a leg, but don’t actually break a leg.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Then, Enjolras is called to the wings for his entrance in Act I, and Grantaire reluctantly lets him go. He whispers to Enjolras’s retreating back, “Good luck, my love,” before turning red and glancing around quickly to make sure nobody overheard him.

There are several times when Grantaire peers out the curtain and locks eyes with Enjolras, and he tries not to laugh at the dramatic expressions on his face. Every one of his movements are fluid and powerful, like the entire backstage mess didn’t even happen, and Grantaire sighs in relief. Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac are kind of an iconic trio too, perfectly in sync when they dance. The scene changes from the streets of Verona to Juliet’s bedroom while the audience applauds. Grantaire enters with Joly pretending to fret over him, not unlike how he usually acts.

Grantaire tries not to think while performing his pas de deux with Montparnasse. From an audience’s standpoint, it must look great, beautiful even, but he tries to maintain a neutral and bored expression rather than one of pure disgust. When it’s finally over and Montparnasse attempts to kiss his hands, Grantaire slides them out of his grasp and backs away, just to turn around and come face-to-face with a masked Enjolras.

It’s so easy to get in character and act awestruck while staring at him. For Grantaire, it’s certainly not love at first sight, but he does feel his heart do a flip in his chest. They hold eye contact while the music starts again, and Grantaire follows Enjolras with his eyes as he moves to join Combeferre and Courfeyrac again. Montparnasse takes his hand again, but he has eyes only for Enjolras.

When Grantaire tries to get close to Enjolras again, he gets stopped by one of the corps members, and a mandolin gets pressed into his hands instead. He plucks absently at it while craning his neck to try to see Enjolras. The corps de ballet moves away and allows Enjolras to perform his solo. His cabrioles are flawless, and his tours en l’air are executed as casually as breathing.

Grantaire performs his own solo, avoiding touching Enjolras for the sake of the story, each pirouette and chainé in perfect time with the orchestra before stepping right into his arms with a gasp. For the first time since the curtain rose, he feels a sense of happiness. As cheesy as it sounds, he’s back where he belongs.

The balcony pas de deux runs just as well as the prior numbers. Everyone in the audience has probably watched it a million times, but they still hold their breath when Enjolras runs on with his billowing red cloak. Grantaire quickly descends the stairs from his “balcony” and clasps Enjolras’s hand to his chest. He tries not to smile as Enjolras shows off in the form of flying leaps and turns. It only feels natural to rest his cheek in Enjolras’s hand when it’s offered to him.

Right when Grantaire spins back into Enjolras’s arms, pirouetting en pointe, they’re no longer two separate entities, but one. The sounds of the winds and brass in the pit wash over him to announce the official beginning of the “Love Dance”. They’re barely apart for moments at a time, and Grantaire feels his heart soar every time he’s lifted with a practiced ease. He feels only Enjolras’s solid muscles against his own, especially when he gets dipped in an embrace. Enjolras is a strong and stable foundation for him.

Grantaire playfully floats about the stage with Enjolras on the floor watching him, occasionally stopping to lift Enjolras’s arm to his chest. He begins to feel the tell-tale ache in his legs as Enjolras catches his outstretched hand. The music slows, and the violins climb higher and higher until their mouths meet in a sweet kiss.

After parting, Grantaire has to remember to act the part of a coy teenager being excited over a first kiss, but all he’s really thinking about is how his legs are screaming at him and cursing at the number of stairs Valjean had installed. Meanwhile, Enjolras’s face is one of pure elation as he rubs his neck with his hand, still in character. Grantaire still gracefully climbs them in the span of a few seconds and kneels on the balcony to touch Enjolras’s fingertips as the curtain goes down to raucous applause. From the darkness of the house, someone even yells, “Bravo!”

The house lights go up, Grantaire comes down, and he sends all the thanks in the world for air conditioning. He breathes, “Oh wow. Okay, we did that.”

He and Enjolras are both panting, chests heaving with every inhale and exhale. Grantaire wants to collapse on the cool floor right then and there.

“One act done, two-point-one more to go,” Enjolras replies, clutching Grantaire tightly to his chest. Grantaire is clutching him back equally as tightly as they both catch their breaths. He notices that Enjolras’s neck and forehead are beaded with sweat.

“I feel like I just ran a marathon,” he says. “Am I just really out of shape, or is it because the adrenaline rush from finally wore off?”

“I think a marathon would be less taxing,” Enjolras remarks as they both sink to the floor against a wall. “I can’t feel my arms.”

Instinctively, Grantaire reaches over and massages at his shoulders and biceps, definitely not for the excuse to feel them up or anything. They stay like that for a few more moments, and he groans at the sound of the PA.

“This is your five minute call.”

* * *

Enjolras… doesn’t really think about anything while he’s dancing. It’s easier to keep his mind carefully blank rather than hyper-fixated on every single step he takes. However, the only thing occupying his mind is Grantaire and how they’re not going to touch each other for the entire act. They’ll still share a stage at the same time, but Joly will be the one acting as a messenger of sorts between them.

Suffice to say, Enjolras doesn’t really need to _act_ distracted when the harlot tries to flirt with him while he brushes her off. A lot happens in the span of Act II: a folk dance, Enjolras pretending to read from a blank piece of paper, “talking” to Jehan, watching Grantaire “talk” to Jehan, and the folk dance again. Courfeyrac and Bahorel duel with prop swords, and Enjolras mimes grief when he falls to the floor, dead. He can literally hear, “‘Tis but a scratch,” in Courfeyrac’s voice.

Enjolras’s face slowly transforms into anger, and he lifts his own sword before beginning the complex choreographed sword fight. Vaguely, he wonders what it looks like on video as he’s busy stabbing at Bahorel, and he remembers to ask Bossuet for the full recording of the show.

At long last, Act II comes to a close, and he practically runs offstage just to see Grantaire again. He wonders when he became so clingy, but for however long the act was, Enjolras has missed having Grantaire in his arms. Ergo, it comes as a relief to get on the prop bed with him after the second intermission while the curtain is still down. Grantaire beams at him while Enjolras caresses his cheek tenderly and presses their foreheads together.

The curtain rises, and Grantaire’s face immediately falls into a mourning expression. The bedroom pas de deux is bittersweet. Enjolras does not want to let go of Grantaire, but forces himself to when he tries to push him away. There are complex turns and lifts in the choreography that have all been thoroughly burned in his muscle memory.

Everytime he leans in to drop a gentle kiss on Grantaire’s lips, Enjolras wishes those kisses are real rather than something at least somewhat planned. When Grantaire looks up at him despairingly while clutching his shoulders and sinking to the ground, it nearly breaks Enjolras’s heart. It’s nearing the end of the pas de deux when Grantaire presses himself close, and each place on Enjolras’s face that his lips make contact with burns tenderly. Enjolras folds him into his embrace and kisses him as deeply as it takes to convince the audience. He tears himself away, desperately wanting to go back in and kiss Grantaire again, but gathers his cloak from the ground, and disappears into the wings.

On the monitor providing live feed backstage, he witnesses Grantaire reach out and stop just short of stepping into the wings as Joly comes back onstage from the other side and starts fussing over Grantaire again, wrapping a pale green chiffon wrap-scarf thing around his shoulders. The orchestra marks the entrance of Éponine as Lady Capulet in a fanfare style motif and again for Feuilly as Lord Capulet.

Enjolras clenches his jaw when Montparnasse tries to take Grantaire’s hand and inwardly cheers as he wrenches it away. It’s painful to watch Grantaire’s sad expressions as he gets pushed around after begging Éponine, Joly, and finally Feuilly. In this moment, Enjolras is so glad they’re adapting _Romeo and Juliet_ because it’s showing how men can be abused equally as much as women while Juliet remains a headstrong character who defies her parents’ wishes.

For a second, Grantaire approaches Montparnasse and lifts his chin defiantly while going up en pointe simultaneously before looking at both his “parents” and travels backwards, still en pointe. Enjolras has to admit that he loves Feuilly like a brother, but when he shoves Grantaire to the floor, it makes him irrationally angry.

Finally alone onstage, Grantaire kneels in the corner before checking the wings and wrapping himself up in the scarf again with a flourish. His face looks appropriately anguished as he leaves.

Enjolras gets fake-married to Grantaire by Jehan a few minutes later. Then, he refuses to watch the monitor for the rest of Act III, while Grantaire takes the “potion”. A part of him wants to see Grantaire’s performance, but he’ll probably tear up just from the look on his face. He turns back around right as Grantaire collapses on his bed, and the curtain falls.

Literally seconds later, Enjolras is back in the wings in time for the epilogue, but the ensemble standing around the stone bed makes it impossible for him to catch a glimpse of Grantaire. He steels himself emotionally, but it’s no use. Looking down at him all laid out like that reminds Enjolras of Grantaire sleeping, bedridden from exerting himself too much a month prior. Enjolras recalls when he passed out in his arms and can’t help but compare the stillness on his face from that moment to right now. His face is void of all emotion, flawless and smooth. It all hurts more than it should.

Grantaire’s limbs are organized neatly, hands folded on his chest, legs straight, and toes pointed. Enjolras plays up the grief while desperately shaking Grantaire’s form before lifting one of his arms, only to have it fall against the bed. He takes that arm and slings it across his shoulders, pulling him off the bed completely by the waist.

The epilogue is eerily similar to the final pas de deux from _Manon_ , featuring Enjolras’s partner being mostly limp through the whole number. He lifts Grantaire until his back is over his shoulder, arms dangling backwards. Grantaire’s left leg is supported by Enjolras’s left hand as it is raised upright until he is almost in a split. Once again, he marvels at his partner’s casual flexibility and definitely not the soft suppleness of the thigh under his hand. Enjolras holds him up for forty seconds straight, never putting him down entirely, but when he does, Grantaire just flops to the floor. The next couple minutes ache both physically and emotionally, especially when he takes Grantaire’s head in his arms and hugs it to his chest.

One last time, Enjolras pulls Grantaire into his arms, holding him tightly before letting him fall into a bridal hold, lying across his arms. Just like he did to carry Grantaire home that one evening, Enjolras carries Grantaire back to the bed and kisses his fingers.

Clutching Grantaire’s arm to his chest, he mimes drinking poison and gives him a soft kiss before slowly falling to the steps and ending up in the most uncomfortable position, arms and chin both tilted back. Enjolras first hears Grantaire start to shift around before feeling his hands in his hair and on his exposed chest. Grantaire hugs his torso and breathes faster. While Enjolras can’t see his expression, he knows that it’s full of grief and desolation.

Enjolras desperately wants to open his eyes and comfort Grantaire, who is still clutching at him, but stays still even as he lets go. The music suddenly cues the moment that he picks up the dagger and “stabs” himself, and Enjolras feels cold at the loss of Grantaire’s touch.

The curtain closes to the loudest applause Enjolras has ever heard in his ballet career thus far. He quickly stands up and offers Grantaire a hand, grinning and muttering, “We died and came back to life, R.”

“We did it. We actually fucking did, you incredible motherfucker,” Grantaire replies, and his eyes are shining with happiness as he eagerly tucks himself against Enjolras, who immediately wraps an arm around his shoulders. Their hands are tightly clasped while the curtain rises again to another surge of applause.

They bow their heads in sync, and Enjolras drops a kiss into Grantaire’s loose hair. The flush on Grantaire’s face, either from exertion or excitement, is utterly captivating. The curtain reopens featuring the entire cast, but Enjolras can only stare at Grantaire as they bow. Grantaire blows him a kiss before they come back together again, and he runs off to the edge of the stage to usher the conductor in, who acknowledges the pit.

Backstage is a flurry of activity. There are dancers congratulating each other loudly, Fantine crying happy tears while hugging her daughter, and Courfeyrac kissing everyone’s cheeks. Suddenly, Enjolras remembers something he had mentioned before the show.

“R, before we go greet people, will you come with me for a second?” he asks. Grantaire looks bewildered.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

He leads him down the hallway and locks the dressing room door for good measure. Grantaire still looks slightly confused, and Enjolras is at a loss for words for once. He opens his mouth and closes it a couple times while pacing around the room. Performing in front of approximately two thousand people and many more on the livestream was nowhere near as nerve-wracking as this moment. His relationship with Grantaire is precious to him, and to ruin it with his feelings would break his heart.

“Okay, so I’m not sure if you remember from approximately three hours ago, but… no. That’s not how I’m doing this. Will you be my- can I-” Enjolras cuts off when Grantaire stops him with a hand on his arm. He’s grinning up at him, and it’s easily the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Yes,” Grantaire replies simply.

“I didn’t even ask anything yet.”

“Yes. The answer will always be yes. Now, are you going to kiss me, or do I have to do it mys-”

Grantaire obviously doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Enjolras tugs him close and urgently presses their mouths together. He has absolutely no idea why they haven’t been doing this earlier, especially when Grantaire’s legs finally give out, and he has to hold him up by the waist. The lips under his are soft and warm, both facts that Enjolras has known for a while now, but the sounds he can coax out of them are more musical than even Tchaikovsky’s greatest ballet score. When they part, they’re both panting heavily from both the ballet and their impromptu makeout session. Grantaire’s lovely mouth is cherry-red and glossy, and his blue eyes are equally as glazed. The flush spread across his cheeks is easily the loveliest color to exist.

Enjolras can’t help but kiss him again.

His arms are wrapped firmly around Grantaire as he presses him up against the wall, and Grantaire retaliates by lifting his legs until they’re wound tightly around Enjolras’s waist, ankles crossed behind his back. Enjolras’s hands wander down for more leverage, or so that’s what he thinks. 

Thank God for dance belts.

They emerge from the room even more disheveled than they had before, even right after dancing a two-and-a-half hour show, Enjolras’s hair looking like someone has been running his hands through it and effectively undoing all his hard work taming it from before. Grantaire looks like a glorious mess, face completely red and lips swollen and plump. He looks gorgeous, and Enjolras tells him so. Grantaire thanks him with a kiss.

It takes about an hour to talk to patrons, take pictures with excited fans, and deal with Courfeyrac and Joly screaming about the performance. Bossuet excitedly shows them screenshots of comments from the livestream, most of which feature a lot of keysmashing and love exclaimed in all caps. Some of them talk about how sexy Enjolras is, but he decides to ignore them.

Enjolras makes eye contact with Grantaire from across the room, but before he could do anything, he gets attacked by Courfeyrac in a hug, who asks, “Where did you disappear off to? Oh my God, did you go woo R? Have hot sex in his dressing room because you’re secretly as romantic as Romeo, himself?”

“You answered your first question, yes, and no,” Enjolras replies in a neutral voice. “Now if you’ll excuse me…” he trails off.

“Go! Go confess your undying love for him!” Courfeyrac exclaims before giving his shoulder a push.

Enjolras has to stop for a few more selfies before he finds himself back at Grantaire’s side. Grantaire bursts into giggles at the sight of him and wheezes, “Courf… Courf literally tackled to the floor… I saw you disappear and was worried for a moment.”

He waits for Grantaire to finish before whispering in his ear, fully aware that they’re in public, “I totally forgot earlier, but I just wanted to say that I love you.”

Grantaire hiccups on his next inhale and actually bursts into tears before breathlessly asking, “Wait, you _what?_ Are you trying to kill me right now? Oh God, please tell me I’m not dreaming again because I’ve never felt this much happiness in one night.”

“I’m in love with you, R. Probably have been since you first smiled at me,” Enjolras explains, gently brushing away the tears from Grantaire’s cheeks.

“I suppose now’s a good time to say that I love you too. Since forever ago. Probably when I first irked you, and you glared at me in return before executing the most powerful switch leap I’ve ever seen. Oh God, Enjolras, we've come so far.”

Enjolras gazes at Grantaire fondly and catches him when he launches himself into his arms before eagerly accepting his sweet kiss. Countless cameras go off, and there are so many whistles and cheers from the crowd that had gathered out of curiosity.

The next morning, Enjolras wakes up at the ass-crack of dawn to countless messages and links from Courfeyrac and the rest of their friends, all featuring their kiss and dramatic love confession. He silently reads them for a moment, blushing at how they all described them as “so romantic” or something along those lines. One headline in particular, “For never was a story of more happiness than this of Juliet and his Romeo,” catches Enjolras’s eye, and he snorts because that is undoubtedly the sappiest thing he’s ever had the pleasure to read. A small noise and movement comes from his side, and he tilts his head down to press his lips to Grantaire’s forehead.

“‘S too early,” Grantaire mumbles, cuddling closer. “Sleep.”

Enjolras glances down at where his boyfriend’s head is cushioned on his chest and wraps his arms tightly around him, locking him into his embrace. They sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fairly certain this is the chapter we've all been eagerly waiting for, and I hope I didn't disappoint. Dressing room makeout sessions are pretty common right? And overly eager love confessions??? I'm also not quite sure how helpful dance belts are in this situation, but we can just pretend. Feel free to scream at me if you like.


	8. Farewell Before Parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is pretty good.

One month and eleven performances seem to breeze by so quickly that Grantaire gets whiplash. His Instagram gets blown up with pictures of him kissing Enjolras, and he never really expected to have to stare at his face so many times in a row. Speaking of Enjolras, it has been really comfortable spending their entire days off in his bed. After that time he got sick, Grantaire had shoved his nose into his pillow to try to feel some level of comfort from Enjolras’s scent. Now, he gets the luxury of sleeping in a bed saturated with it, and it even comes with his boyfriend!

They continue to get hot chocolate ( _“For old time’s sake,” Enjolras had said_ ), and Grantaire laughs when he refers to them as actual dates now. They hold hands, but when Grantaire accidentally gets some on his upper lip, Enjolras lets go to wipe it away. At some point while walking through the public garden, warm cups in hand, Grantaire takes out his phone and tells Enjolras to look at the camera but turns around and kisses his cheek at the last moment. Without wasting another moment, it gets posted to Instagram with the cheesiest and most clichéd caption of “My Romeo <3”. That photo gets tens of thousands of likes and a stupid number of screaming comments. Enjolras makes an Instagram account just to like it too. Okay, and to follow politics and stuff, but it’s Grantaire who manages to convince him to.

Sometime in the second week of performances, they move into a new apartment together and adopt a kitten named Patria who gets lavished with so much attention, even while they’re at work. Éponine’s little brother, Gavroche, takes care of her when he’s not at the ballet academy. Sometimes Patria curls up on their pillow and tickles Grantaire’s nose with her tail while he sleeps, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Speaking of pillows, a sketch of the two of them performing the balcony pas de deux now hangs over their large and comfortable bed, and Enjolras gives Grantaire the sweetest kiss upon seeing it.

After rehearsals one day, their friends all invite themselves over and squish into the apartment for a housewarming party to pet Patria, but they end up getting drunk and start dancing. For a horde of professional ballet dancers and people who have been around them for the longest time, they stumble over each other less than gracefully before passing out on the floor.

Grantaire gets carried back to their room by Enjolras, of course, and he may or may not drunkenly sing praises about how sexy he is right after bursting into tears and sobbing into his shoulder while babbling on and on about how much he loves him. The next morning, Enjolras tells Grantaire that he was rather flattered and then proceeds to call him cute, but Grantaire tries to protest. Against being called cute. Not how flattered Enjolras should be.

They still argue about stupid things like whether “garbage bag shorts” should be a thing, but they both agree that New-Skin is the absolute worst and that they’d rather suffer cuts and blisters than use it again. They argue about silly things like which kiss was actually their first. Enjolras firmly stands with the one in the dressing room until Grantaire mentions something about how every fake kiss prior mattered to him. He wins that argument, to say the least, but he feels especially like a winner when Enjolras picks him up while they’re still attached by the lips.

Kissing is fun and all, but ballet at home is even more fun since it’s just the two of them. Occasionally, Enjolras will watch Grantaire do pointe exercises at the barre they had installed onto one wall of their bedroom. Patria will come in to rub against Grantaire’s ankles and effectively prevent him from getting any real work done. He also has a sneaking suspicion that his boyfriend is just watching for the view.

_(“I swear, I enjoy watching because you’re a brilliant dancer, R. Beautiful, gorgeous, talented, I could go on.”_

_“You just like staring at my butt.”_

_“... I do love staring at your butt.”)_

No matter what kind of paradise he’s been living in, Grantaire still can’t wrap his head around the fact that closing night is less than a day away. “The Big Gay Shakespeare Ballet” has been the second best thing to ever happen to him, the best being Enjolras, obviously, and he’ll be sad to say goodbye to Juliet. The last few months have been surreal and a whole roller coaster of emotions. Grantaire can barely remember the times when he and Enjolras argued about something that wasn’t just playful debating. He feels like a changed man, from being desolate about how stiff and ugly the ballet world is behind all those pretty costumes to becoming significantly more hopeful, one cup of hot chocolate at a time.

Grantaire turns around in bed to face Enjolras and nuzzles the soft material of his T-shirt. It’s probably going to disappear into his side of the closet soon. In fact, Enjolras keeps losing clothes because Grantaire keeps taking them for himself. He can’t complain, though, because Grantaire has caught him staring with rapidly darkening eyes whenever he wears his shirts into rehearsal more than a few times. Or maybe it’s the tiny shorts he wears underneath that do it for him.

“Enj, I…” Grantaire trails off, unsure about what to say.

“Yeah.”

“I just don’t want it to be over yet,” he says, sniffling a little. “I’ll feel empty inside.”

Enjolras pulls him closer and strokes his hair. It makes him undeniably more content, to know that his boyfriend will always hug him like this.

“Shh, R. Me too,” Enjolras replies and kisses him gently. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Backstage is bustling with activity, but Grantaire’s dressing room is like his personal quiet bubble. Of course, Enjolras is in there with him as they pull on costumes and apply makeup. Well, Enjolras is sitting on a chair while Grantaire straddles his waist and applies his eyeliner for him because the man absolutely sucks at doing it himself.

“Stop squeezing my waist unless you want a horizontal line down your face,” Grantaire pouts, holding the aforementioned face closer. “Also close your eyes. This staring thing is making me feel like I’m being observed under a microscope, and I can’t get to your eyelids if they’re open.”

“Can’t help it, love. I just adore you so much, and I adore looking at your gorgeous face so much.”

“Kiss for good luck?” Enjolras asks later when they finish warming up. Grantaire obliges, getting up en pointe and brushing their lips together before shooing him into the wings.

“Don’t die,” he says jokingly.

“Can’t help it, sweetheart. I never seem to be able to breathe when I’m with you,” Enjolras replies, disappearing before Grantaire can even begin to blush.

“Fucking- he keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure, cheesy bastard,” he quips to himself before laughing at his own joke.

This time around, Grantaire does not hold back on loving gazes, giving them freely whenever he looks at Enjolras, but it still makes him melt when Enjolras looks back at him with just as much love in his eyes. Each graze of their hands still sends a thrill down Grantaire’s spine, and he feels warm whenever and wherever Enjolras touches him. Courfeyrac says that because they’re actual partners now, not just work partners, the chemistry onstage is palpable and much more visible, and that makes their dancing all the better. Grantaire doesn’t know if that’s true, but he’s willing to believe it.

When Grantaire leans back against Enjolras’s chest, he’s come home.

They’re not afraid to make their kisses onstage a little more intimate, Enjolras biting on Grantaire’s lower lip in the balcony scene and eliciting a gasp that only they hear. It’s not like the audience can see it when Enjolras slips him a bit of tongue in the bedroom scene either, but Grantaire knows that his friends are very likely fanning themselves with their hands dramatically backstage.

Act III comes to a close faster than Grantaire would like. Before he knows it, he’s lifting the tiny green bottle to his lips and crawling to the bed, sinking against the pillows in time with the held woodwind note, faking his fake death. It’s not the most comfortable thing to be lying down on; that spot is held firmly by his and Enjolras’s bed back in their apartment, preferably with their kitten curled up above their heads.

The curtain rises again, and Grantaire arranges himself and closes his eyes, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible. Éponine and Feuilly are holding each other while Joly kneels, sobbing, at the foot of the bed, and Montparnasse stands to the other side. Grantaire feels his skin crawl at the stare fixed on his body and resists the urge to squirm. Thankfully, Montparnasse is “dead” soon after Enjolras enters. Every cell in Grantaire’s body is singing for Enjolras’s touch, which he receives when hands are placed on his waist and shoulders urgently. He wishes he could reach out and hold Enjolras’s face as he’s dragged out of the bed and hoisted into his arms in one last melancholy duet. 

Enjolras’s thumb tenderly caresses the back of Grantaire’s skull when he is carried back to the bed. It’s too much for him to handle, knowing that Enjolras loves him, and he’s so thankful that he doesn’t have to see the anguish on his face when he’s being kissed. His hand is held tightly in Enjolras’s when Enjolras rests his golden head against his belly.

Suddenly, Grantaire is hit with the knowledge that these are the final moments of _Romeo and Juliet_ , and all his emotions come flying back in the form of tears. The audience holds a collective breath, not even daring to cough when he starts moving again. As he hugs Enjolras’s torso to his body, he openly sobs, and some of his tears land on Enjolras’s bare chest.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” Enjolras murmurs so softly that only he can hear, mouth barely moving. Grantaire reluctantly lets him go to finish up the rest of the scene and lays himself across the bed, fingers outstretched and just barely missing Enjolras’s.

The curtain falls.

Before Grantaire can even open his eyes again, Enjolras is hugging him tightly and lacing their fingers together, and he can’t help but cling to him, trying not to get all teary for the second time in the span of minutes.

“It’s over. Oh God, it’s over. Enjolras, I love you, it’s over,” he repeats. They’re sitting on the bed, holding each other, and Enjolras kisses Grantaire right as the curtains open. The cheering and applause grow even louder. Grantaire is an emotional mess right now, but he pulls himself together to bow. He never lets go of Enjolras’s hand, not until they’re back in his dressing room and stripping off their stage makeup and costumes.

Grantaire gets… many flowers. He knows it’s not a thing for men to receive bouquets and stuff, but fuck what society says, right? Besides, they’re pretty and smell good. Also, let it be known that Enjolras, under all that glorious righteousness, is just a huge sap and a romantic. Especially when he wordlessly hands Grantaire a single red rose.

Suffice to say, he’s feeling ridiculously happy and madly in love.

* * *

“I’ve died thirteen times, yet you still want to kill me,” Enjolras remarks, letting his eyes roam appreciatively over his boyfriend’s body. He had asked Bossuet for the recording of the opening night show, so they could watch it back. In addition, Courfeyrac wanted a get-together to celebrate the end of “The Big Gay Shakespeare Ballet,” so he’s going to get a party. Where they watch their production. He had also specified that they should definitely dress up because it’s not just any party; it’s a fancy party, which explains why Enjolras is currently trying to pin Grantaire to the wall with his eyes.

It’s been known that Grantaire looks good in anything he wears, including those cute kitten-print leggings. Enjolras drinks in the sight of his boyfriend wearing a black suit over a forest green silk shirt and his slacks clinging to his thighs and hips. His eyes are even lined with black eyeliner, making the blue of his irises stand out. Grantaire is also smirking like he’s aware of how hot he is, so really, Enjolras cannot be blamed for attacking his lips in a kiss while reaching down to squeeze his ass. Grantaire yelps and glares at him playfully, protesting about how long it took to tame his hair.

“It looks good no matter what,” Enjolras says offhandedly. “You look… wow.”

“You would too if you actually got ready,” Grantaire snarks, but his cheeks turn pink at the compliment.

Enjolras begrudgingly gets up, not exactly happy at having to tear himself away from Grantaire. He walks into the closet and ponders his choices. Enjolras doesn’t hate suits or fancy clothes, really. He just hates ties because they choke him, and he briefly considers asking for help on tying it. Instead, he decides against wearing one, which is why he simply leaves the collar of his black shirt unbuttoned before sliding on a matching double-breasted waistcoat and his own suit jacket.

“Hnng, shoulders. Why would you do this to me?” Grantaire moans, when Enjolras comes out of the closet. Uh, physically. He was figuratively out of the closet before he even did his first butterfly jump all those years ago.

“I thought you didn’t like it when I wore this much black?” Enjolras teases.

Grantaire huffs indignantly and looks away, “Yeah, well you just happen to be Monsieur Sexy over there even when you look like you're about to attend a funeral, so I suppose that’s fine… just put on a red accessory or something.” 

Enjolras watches, amused, as Grantaire turns back around to stare at him again, pouting. He smiles and asks, “I take it you approve, then?”

“Enj, give me a moment. I am having a revelation right now while carefully asking myself whether we should go and humor Courf or just stay here in bed all night instead,” Grantaire replies.

“Both. We can do both.”

Enjolras ties the laces on his shiny dress shoes while Grantaire slides on suede loafers. Patria gets fed and petted, and they depart before she can shed fur all over them.

“I’m not gonna stop drooling over you, y’know,” Grantaire says as they walk quickly, like the gay Parisians they are. “I cannot be held accountable if anybody tries to flirt with you.”

Enjolras snorts and brushes his lips across his boyfriend’s knuckles, “Likewise. I’m going to have to fight anyone who stares at you for too long.”

“Flatterer.”

"I'm only speaking the truth."

Upon arrival, Courfeyrac ushers them into the back room, and everyone cheers loudly. A projector has been set up, and the tables dressed in white tablecloths and flower arrangements. Clearly, Courfeyrac and Bossuet were very dedicated in capturing every moment from their rehearsals and performances. The slideshow shuffles while music from Prokofiev’s score plays.

Enjolras can't help but laugh at some of the slides. There are countless awkward pictures of his face in the process of lifting Grantaire and so many blurry photos of his partner mid-pirouette. He grimaces a little at the photos of their fake kisses in rehearsal because they look so forced compared to the ones from the performances. Grantaire is visibly cringing next to him too, and Enjolras has the great honor to watch him turn so ridiculously red and cover his face with his hands when the next slides show up.

“Uh, do we just happen to look really good like this?” Enjolras questions, unsure of what to say, a feeling he doesn’t often encounter. "I don't even know if we actually held that pose that many times."

Grantaire throws his hands up and yells, “Courf, Boss, just _how many_ pictures did you guys take of me swooning into Enj’s arms?”

Courfeyrac shrugs, “Not enough, clearly, because you two were oblivious as fuck.”

Everyone in the room vehemently agrees, the loudest confirmation coming from Fantine, and Grantaire groans. Enjolras, feeling sympathetic, rubs his shoulders and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth as consolation. A collective “aww” rises up from the crowd.

Enjolras nearly chokes on his drink when videos suddenly start playing. There’s one of him with his hands on Grantaire’s waist as he twirls, but the floor must have been really slippery that day because Grantaire literally falls out of his hold. He vaguely remembers that moment, and Bossuet did a great job editing the video to pause on each of their shocked reactions.

At some point through watching their own production, Grantaire migrates into Enjolras’s lap and starts feeding him tiny morsels. Enjolras makes sure to kiss each of his fingers in return. It’s still strange watching his own face, especially when it crumples because Grantaire is “dead”. That part is apparently extremely convincing, as evidenced when many of their friends start sniffling. Fantine dabs at her eyes with a napkin while Cosette gives her a hug.

The slideshow starts again, displaying commentary from the livestream and kind messages from fans talking about how their lives have been changed, filling Enjolras with an indescribable joy. He tightens his arms around Grantaire, and Combeferre pats his back as he starts tearing up.

“You’re doing it, darling. One ballet at a time,” Grantaire tells him before taking his head in both hands and kissing him soundly. “I’m literally so proud of you.”

Enjolras takes his boyfriend’s hands in his own and squeezes, smiling wetly, “I’m proud of us.”

Grantaire’s eyes are shining and quickly filling with tears, and Enjolras flicks them off his cheeks when they fall. He asks, “So, since this was such a success, I have to ask: what’s next?”

Enjolras pretends to ponder it for a moment, but eventually replies, “Hmm, I was thinking of doing _Sleeping Beauty_ next and then maybe _Swan Lake_ or _Mayerling_ after that. Are you up for it, my partner-in-crime, fouettés and all?”

Grantaire grins and ducks his head, and all of Enjolras’s senses zero in on him. The venue is bursting with noise and energy, but there’s nobody else in the world at this moment.

“As long as you permit it, of course.”

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL FOR BEARING WITH ME.  
> Because I'm not ready to let go of this AU yet, I have a bunch of other scenes and stuff written that you all should check out if you haven't already. The NSFW scene collection already has the smut that inevitably took place in the last chapter.
> 
> [Here](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLakqW6UI1PpRX4S9UVpnGX9Zx9HxjdTp0) is a playlist of videos I used for research purposes and just because they're fun to watch.
> 
> [This](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_ballet) is a glossary of ballet terms, just in case you were curious and wanted to look it up, and [this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romeo_and_Juliet_\(Prokofiev\)) is the Wikipedia page for the _Romeo and Juliet_ ballet.
> 
> Again, kudos is what keeps me going, and feel free to scream about something, whether it's relevant or not.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my Tumblr [here](http://cx-shhhh.tumblr.com/)! I post a lot of memes and stuff, so maybe something will catch your interest. Feel free to send me an ask or rant about how adorable Grantaire is. I also have a few behind-the-scenes posts there under the tag, “the big gay shakespeare ballet”.
> 
> In addition, join the [hoes for enjolras](https://discord.com/invite/vERrqvA) server to talk or something.


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